Tossing the pebble of pain
aside
I drown in the gathering wave
like a floating womb.
The neural workers went on a strike
as soon as
I ate nautical emptiness
with the fellow reefs
and the kelp forests.
The heights of eros were
as raw as the Bull shark
as down as the trenches
as up as the ridges.
Fat seagulls chasing
the Juve fish
with a banality of evil
and the blue whales
whistling the winds
with their blowholes
while cleaning up
the food chains.
And the national geographic
diver is cruising through
the salty waters
with a dry lens.
— Drunken Monk
Thy Vox 
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