Depth lurch on a squeam engine.
Node up a tight fixture
With what liquors you want to spit
The statues with. Night haunch
On a bicuspid shows a stomach
How to shitstorm. You gotta lift
Her through the luminescent plankton
Shift. Armies in the tide of night
Make hurry-questions out of what-to-do.
Over the chord around you’re heart
A grease stem made of whale light.
Tap the umbilical vase. Her wadded
Temple leashes the quadruped to
A memory of legs, the flailing.
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