Leg-hairs rope rat-tails
after the gush of
the brown froth
we call the ocean

hissing auto-tune
to the distant jets
that drop
bombs into the sea

and girls scream
at dead fish,
the mountains carved
by waves collapse
in ribbon dunes
as insects
lose footing

thunder-flies slice
leg-forests down,
sewage surges
black puddles;
we wash hands

and dig soggy clumps,
suck at softly
slashed wrists
from razor pods,
brown under flaps
of skin

horizons hold
the next lands
under pristine
wind turbines,
slicing up sky.