We Loose Our Footing

March 8, 2009
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Uproar so silent in its salted self
The he and she go thrusting through like gold
And purple schools of fish race past sand shelf
Go he and she - marry and to household

Limbs lost in Neptune's heartless gaping room;
Their royal frenzy melting, freezing now;
He crowns the currents in his angry fume.
Untempered love, a swell does not allow.

He grabs the ocean, turns it round, lets go
A jealous cry, heard not by anyone
For he, on land, does not exist. He throes
To life like nets, and is, like nets, outdone

By squirming bodies making that which he
Cannot. In sunken hell, his suff'ring we can't see.

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