This sea at the shore of seas,
Where other seas begin,
Where is conceived the great Pangaea of seas. Panthalassa!
that stretch three quarters of the way into the future,This sea,
pubescent,
Horny and tempestuous
And desiring increase at every level,
Ingenious and bursting at the seams,
Throwing up all kinds of mad ideas,
Shimmying, shimmering with milky life,
Not yet self-conscious, unshy,
reckless
Grand-roiling stinking-green and then some,What joyful
possibilities and probabilities
You had, before rhythm and the seasons
And the practice of five hundred million years
And filling the forms
And seeking your own level
And overthinking itBrought you to
that staid middle age
In which the best trick
You can conjure
Is a mere blue whale.—
No related posts.
