they call this lowdown, "1ife"-- the buggers
midgets who breathe their bottoms--
my time charges across the sky.
I'll suffer the current what staggers
through greasy wires, crackling dreams,
all that firepower --
and shove it down their throats
nothing, the lot of them.
on hind legs
their grasp judges not my big toe.
history's droplets, these "humans" shaken loose
from the genius of oceans
where I come and go as I please,
gilled and lunged and hugely ordered
without fracture, without deviation,
a thing of land, sea, and air---
I complete. I perfect
yet I fear the insect who probes my divinity,
stamps and measures me
as I turn in my sleep---
the whole savaged, then picked to pieces
by sony walkmans, computer software, tv's and vcr's---
miniature vessels that violate the surface of my world
(waves jammed with dangerous ideas),
dropping their little bombs
no bloody more!
send I tidal waters to wash clean the infidel,
and fire from the mouth of hell
to burn away ambition's stench
shit, maybe I'll win this one,
maybe my head and tail will adorn
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