It will be warm

Inside the tunnel

Who's structure is

A chipped tooth's

Brief sharpness.

To move along

The corridor is a short trip.

It will always

Look exactly the way

You look at it.

Round me up.

Instead of waxed cotton,

Bolster my shoes

(As though I'd been done in)

Shear them of laces

To puddle at my feet.

I cannot tell the fin to detach from the Mackerel.

The hope of the Ocean is not to share its fish.

Teem with finality.

Perhaps it will

Respond.