tagNon-Erotic PoetryStarfish Scramble

Starfish Scramble


The ocean's audience,

We see the backs of their heads
They're transfixed.

No necks craining the flow,

They're bald-headed
Skinned radically coloured fuzz.

These the pulverized pebbles.

Ebb the fickle-natured drones,

Flood the dutiful salted crystals.

The moon's chief co-ordinator,

No qualms about

Tidal turpitudes.

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