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13.02.2021, 11:11 | #1 |
Who will study the oceans when we are gone?
These new cams can record the opening and closing of the south pacific clams
we categorize them according to hereditary clans their rich kingdom is snuggly crammed into the remnants of last century's greatest crash. Do you know it? It left these bones on the ocean floor children, mothers, crass sailors who drank one cup too many now cured of their worries, eternally done for their strung out fascias donned by ocean life, femurs— infrastructure for the coral, a surfboard for a crab. That one there, he hammed it up on a pectoral girdle riding the waves that curl like the mane of a mare he has never seen, because he's a prawn and not a man, one from a mass but each one just as capable of mashing the eyesockets of dead captains in. Next to the first officer's remains is a lass and a heavy ma'dam, whose loose head still nods with the beathing of currents none can interfere with the gentle sway of her person, the pram which her white-knuckled fear still grasps after 50 odd years. One still can recognize the recession in their clothes from the calcium content in their graying bones prone to brittle flaking when they are prodded by passing eels with their slinking bodies, pure esses they can straighten to rods, electrified rams running into the ruins of what we once called humanity. Their runes are forgotten now like their worries, their pains, their scared eyes watching as the water washed over the deck as their sham of a captain jumped over board as some snored, others snorted all the uppers they had left the weather vane spun and spun and spun snared by the fickleness of an oncoming death. |
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