Petite steeples (whelk palaces) urchin-velcro to sea-pickle pillars, plumb-jamb to sea attics by teetotum bobbers.
Beneath thrill-pills planted in polyp pillows,
beside bedded clamped clams, embedded in shaved sands, lie shelves of dissolved
poems (devolved to follicle threads) revolving @ coral platters.
Corporal mermaidens (corporeal - the real
deal! drool-appeal: finned shell-fanned waists, kelp-cyst busts) twist plots.
Buxom-bums, riddle trances n slippery
speeches, (“Scratch my barnacled back, or say, slay an eel, and I may give you
a flip,”) force stories to read like erased mist.
Other writings resist, retell legends that
lend to sleuthed lathed truths. For instance:
There remain rotting spots where one can
shuttle (scuttle) back. Swilling strobing krill particles manifests festering,
pestering, ephemeral saddles strapped to dimension-diving sea horses.
Sure, there are lapses - snapped’n½ slides,
rattled ladders, explosive synapses - but the tunnels are elastic, more or less
lasting.
Ah ha! There goes a gunnel fish breeder
gunning 4 lands of guns n coins. Gazing at the final whale carcass tacked to a
rusty gunwale, grieving, she crumples to oily trash-rumpled sea. A wealthy
thief stabs the aquarist’s recycled bag, poisoning butterfish in toxic
surf.
So dimension historians, or folks that go in
for histrionics, polarizing mnemonics, politics… Emotional masochists, those
condemned to delve into divided scream dreams, you can get there, you can go…
However, after- the task returning to this
under-construction glow polis, where utopia’s top topic…?
Distressing. Simpler to catch purple pebbles
in lone fungal slot of trillions of nature-homage nests (trillium skinned,
tulip-pistil, lichen latch, xylem file…) in the tyro inventor’s gyroscope, on
the edge of town, near where the sidewalk begins to slope up.
Taiga-tinged hummocks hammock’d w/ pinecone
cocoons n papaya pods, lacquered w/ fledgling un-usurped philosophies, sop
condensed phonic syrup.
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