This Anger as a Sea Creature.

The scene was so groggily wrapped, so Neal Anthony.

Behind his ears, there were circles of crows telling the sad story,
How candid my cousin died

steeping the sea

between his lover this shark.

Who would have known these crows -
They were just shadows then coming closer into frame.


Neal Anthony was always:
bigger boobs bigger puzzles bigger horizons,
always strolling this high beam - littered with bright molocules.

His Ginger wrapped herself in an wool blanket next to the fan.
And all I think,

Does she still have a clit ring?

See here Neal - I'll brought you this wrought monocle -
See here Neal - my soft, see my welt for you.

I downed your sink over on Anger Street.
I became a river, became so very small -
slippery this hip here and here. 

I imagine the crows as profit tellers,  
We were filled with many sleeting days;  

take this well thirty hundred feet deep.
Take this lit storm drain, this tower. 
Take with you a wool blanket.  

We bow and bow and bow.   

Give me your middle ring -
It's so shunning, I can hardly look away.