Attack

in the water.

Reached the shoals by backstroke.

As my nerves settled I respired

Sunbathed.

She squirms

at needle’s sight.

They have to take samples

if she is to be diagnosed.

Proceed.

Nude mic

enveloped in

wind’s hiss, flutter clipping.

Unable to capture my night’s

ocean roar.

Red meat,

literally.

“Called tuna tartar,”- chef

“Don’t eat it,” -bird, “cdc closed.”

Sent back.

droop loops

eyelid phys ed

hypnic jerks guilt spindles

here and now enter the void yes

ink pools