A poem is a suffocating fish

Ive learnt
from all the crushing
and squeezing and straining
by that invisible hand
that seems to push your life
through a sieve like lumpy batter
that a poem is not a statement
but some plumbing
of the souls pond
hauling suffocating
fish up onto dry land

You cook them
they get smaller
And then you eat them again
or serve them to your friends