• Embed Doc
  • Copy Link
  • Readcast
  • Collections
  • CommentGo Back
Download
 
Up to bands of tin,The rungs laughed,Since dread sung heartful:Ears ‘round the gaudy chillFlopped into still.A foot pointed shoreward,A cap of red plumes,A hand’s stubble fingers,And purposeless gills:Not vengeful, sticking,Thirsty, patched with curls,But bobbing like motiveAnd bent to a slow world.Foam swells to a sponge of krill,Fizzled and sprained blue seaStrained through baleen,Then dense hoards of shrimpCrumple into a peach human mouth.
 
The white mug flewOff the tableAnd fellInto the heavenlyFlecks of the floor,Sharding the skyWith fragmented flowers,Orb-shell splinters,And modern sculptures.
of 00

Leave a Comment

You must be to leave a comment.
Submit
Characters: ...
You must be to leave a comment.
Submit
Characters: ...