Needless to say, our interlocked harpoons entangled the
subservient shellfish of our habitation. The grindings of our tin canister, "unsanded," and the tinfoil wrapper of
aluminum, pronounced in the British accent of course, fill the void between
rocket and launcher as the knife attached to stick, impaled the first of all of its
innocent prey. Fish tails swerved and glided away in the undulations of currents that beset my heart like the very
groupings of elements that create it. Oh weary traveler, art thou, a small puckering of the lips, a minuscule bubble of breath from the near tragedy of aquatic kingdom? Let the finned creature bleed, and hope
the ions swell in the cushion of their saturated sea casket.
- J. A. Kind
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