Pit of the Sea

walk though
night-space
of the bird-black
clam-shut-shells, one
keeps adjusting silver
splashed beaks, dilating
shuddering
against
uninjured air
conditioned barnacle encrusted
vibraphone—waves
cannot hide there submerged
on shelves of
sunlight
splintered glass-vines
smug beside spun fragments—
slip by swiftness
precision affords
crevices, in and out
illuminating eye
lids of water
driven wedged
iron-slices
through
edgeless-serrations
of cliff motored
stars, pinkish
slipper
inking rice-grains of
missed drinking jellyfish picnics, crabs
crawl out
from green lilies towns, submarine
jealousy housed toadstool
musing
slide around
the externalized marking of abuse,
transcribed
onto pavement, presented
defiant edifices, physically
recovered cartoon-spoons,
accidently dropped
deposits of dynamite,
grooves into
hatchet-burned
out strokes of
stand-alone
chasms,
dead repeated
archeological-wheels
covered in non-revivable
controls, grown
round an old
sea pit swallowing it
to survive

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