The Mad Angler Barters Himself

Reading water, air, fire, earth it makes no difference…. the language of things sifting through his hands like Braille. He figures his life is worth at least one river, an arm worth a single bend, and the hairs on his head the equivalent of one riffle apiece. He is...

The Politics of the Mad Angler

He seeks the consensus of dark bends, feeder creeks, the formations of gravel turned into messages on sand bars. Where there is sky, he dreams of more. Where there are politicians he dreams of men with true hearts, their dark veins pulsing with pure run-off. He offers...