My Addiction

My Addiction

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Jelinski, Jack

Come spring I am starved for a fix.

I tremble like an addict

fumbling with my head kit:

blood knots, surgeon’s loops, clinch knots,

longing to get bent, baked, jacked up,

amped to find the perfect jolt

of energy

from a perfectly drifted nymph

ferociously struck

by a winter-starved trout

that travels through my fly-line

to the tip of my five-weight

and down the shaft of the rod

to my wrist

where it explodes the pleasure center

of my amygdala

like a hit of crack cocaine.

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