i. sometimes we hope there are talismans that can distract the fisher
what is prescribed by the dessicated wise
with their vertical slits and alligator eyes,
leave them to leer with their yellowing leer
until our dreamy dream of the moldy rye commences:
then, we shall resume our habits imagined from the sand-
we will bobble at will in iceberg blue among the laughing blue,
laugh again where joyous scales are washed by blue
in a laughing shimmer of also laughing laughter blue.
ah! selchie, come to me in a form that magically matches
the creeping sundrop, my rough sweater, and the orange tide-
if I were a sea leopard laughing in the salty tide,
I would only bite you, nicely, while rolling underwater:
I no longer care for herring.
ii. alone on the strand but not in those dreams of sand
a flowery sonnet a day is anorexic to sum
with all dem iambs and such tricks that seek
to flatter the notches of conquests begun.
from how many realities is it possible to flee?
I only ask because I'm counting on something-
algebraically, I would claim that n is greater than zero
but that does not sound sufficiently endearing for now
and I can see that you are not melting.
I have attempted to capture something:
it's just laughter during blue abundance,
and a crystallized frolic in freezing water.