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Ocean
by Mary Lambert
These days, thoughts come in shoals,
deep and long.

Moving through caverns, their constant
discourse resounds on waves of glimmering
froth. And yet...deep holes unfold at the
bottom.

Undergrowth undulates frozen traumas upward.
Like severed limbs, they do a distorted dance
up, up, toward light.

Skeletal remains resurrect as coral, building
labryrinthine castles on sand, to house amorphous
kings with streaming robes and poison.

God's womb.



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