Aug 11, 2007

In Brine, Beneath Delos

In Brine, Beneath Delos,

Poseydon praised each mackerel with
A silvery line across mid-body; across

Mid-body and under, draped, a prism
Sheen or spleen of mother-of-pearl

And thin skin. Across the counter, sprawled,
On ice in all its coldness, a mackerel

Limp, its ghost-eyes pierced into skull
Like pearls, its head a part of its body

Under Mackerel Sky, a bevy of dead mackerel
Shells placed as decorum on Day's blue walls.


In Delos, a fisherman, in a Pleyt, spotted
A Horse entering the sea and, by it,

Getting swallowed. In Brine, the Horse
Transforms and turns into Poseydon.

In Brine, in rows, steams of uncoloured
Fish, till he arcs in a downhill motion

His spear and turns - clad in damask-
Each fish into a cross between Salmon

And Pirayah, names them Brinelos.

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