Wreck of the Boulevard
splash vast
a suspect
a Maldorornaut knifing nacre
figurative nacre since
it's flesh
of similar jokes in a superstitious
spirit
whose pearl
secretes what many
a sinking ship's discovered
and as feed enters
kicking like bacon
rippers thrash the goodness!
rain it down vertical horizons
shafts where blood fumes
decanting the soul
which to be free of
whales and seals
flippered back
beyond that boot floating
that twist of shirt
bright
snagged
in kelp
and foam spelling
foam, not
Osiris,
laps, whispers
Taste...
the sauce...