Poem By Morgan Michaels
Eels will peer shyly from your skull
carps will nuzzle mosses off your bones.
Over all the pink sands recompose
the stoma closes, neater than a mirror's
the water baits itself with glints and glimmers
Artful, evil, undetected snare!
Quicker, really, than a toad's tongue
the foggy sea has plucked off from its front
spar-clutchers, castaways, men set adrift-
now you see themm, now you don't
and in the briney angle of its arm
clippers ravished like a fuming Dis
now they bloom weirdly in the ooze
or creep before the gently shepherding tides.
But totalled, these are few-none practically
stars discerned with just the naked eye
beside the lone, un-numbered, countless troves
that tumble, dizzy, from the banks of Love.