Petite steeples (whelk palaces) urchin-velcro to sea-pickle pillars, plumb-jamb to sea attics by teetotum bobbers.
Beneath thrill-pills planted in polyp pillows, beside bedded clamped clams, embedded in shaved sands, lie shelves of dissolved poems (devolved to follicle threads) revolving @ coral platters.
Corporal mermaidens (corporeal - the real deal! drool-appeal: finned shell-fanned waists, kelp-cyst busts) twist plots.
Buxom-bums, riddle trances n slippery speeches, (“Scratch my barnacled back, or say, slay an eel, and I may give you a flip,”) force stories to read like erased mist.
Other writings resist, retell legends that lend to sleuthed lathed truths. For instance:
There remain rotting spots where one can shuttle (scuttle) back. Swilling strobing krill particles manifests festering, pestering, ephemeral saddles strapped to dimension-diving sea horses.
Sure, there are lapses - snapped’n½ slides, rattled ladders, explosive synapses - but the tunnels are elastic, more or less lasting.
Ah ha! There goes a gunnel fish breeder gunning 4 lands of guns n coins. Gazing at the final whale carcass tacked to a rusty gunwale, grieving, she crumples to oily trash-rumpled sea. A wealthy thief stabs the aquarist’s recycled bag, poisoning butterfish in toxic surf.
So dimension historians, or folks that go in for histrionics, polarizing mnemonics, politics… Emotional masochists, those condemned to delve into divided scream dreams, you can get there, you can go…
However, after- the task returning to this under-construction glow polis, where utopia’s top topic…?
Distressing. Simpler to catch purple pebbles in lone fungal slot of trillions of nature-homage nests (trillium skinned, tulip-pistil, lichen latch, xylem file…) in the tyro inventor’s gyroscope, on the edge of town, near where the sidewalk begins to slope up.
Taiga-tinged hummocks hammock’d w/ pinecone cocoons n papaya pods, lacquered w/ fledgling un-usurped philosophies, sop condensed phonic syrup.