by Ally Fleming
It sputters, then it surges;
ocean enconched then at-
ankle, rising, ripping want,
a whip-wave night, stars
my squall-scattered teeth.
Lear-blind, scale-palmed
monster me, roaring we 'til
morning groans horizon:
the yellow smoke that rubs
its back against that rubs
against the yellow fog the
smoke that comes and goes
The lustre of red wreckage
queasing, gored gorgeous:
sea-glint glut of pitching
eyes and eyes and eyes.
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