Inspection
It stops here. Here. On this shore, at the rim
of waves for hours already
busy shedding their bodies
no more returning, no mass returning
into the depths.
The water breaks, hauls, mauls, smashes
wildly and impatiently
deep-sea blue, deep-sea rue, deep sea
of imperfection.
Come no closer, offer no first aid.
Timidly the creature lies waiting among
the humans. Later they will take monsters
heart, melon, inner ear, lungs, liver.
Something with rotten teeth, gastric juice,
disorientation perhaps.
The blanched bones in showcases, back in sea
or deep earth. Registered:
gender, how old, how heavy, cause of death.
To see the original poem, go to here.
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