bleach baby beach bones walking down the boygirl burial sand I step on a fury of roses   thorns from the vine of casket-strength sea spines tail of tales of sting-ray die-off   sun's rays sea's rays sting rays risibly risking sun and waves of denial anger grief   the long spike spiked with shark tooth hunger red sun rising in a weather bloom   off my foot rose madder and madder and madder still life blood nor pain are lightfast   offshore seals moan what's my tune sharp scaled staccato of bones

waking again with hair sticking up like antlers, my COVID doo and don't, pillow wet where dreamwater leaked from the corner of my mouth   now the grass-fed belly of clouds and thinking to gut them – slice them open with the knife edge of my palm, hang them to bleed out then salt and dry   or better my hair is a field of antennae scanning for life, where Heaven plays its Top 10 hits on the radio telescope  in my skull

A narrow bridge crosses over the sulfurous pit. Screams of the damned rise up from below. Roiling flames, lava, billowing pit smoke both left and right. Keep shuffling forward. Whatever you do, don’t look down.

To appease the violent, raging seas, thousands of therapists are boarded on luxury ocean liners. The ships head out to sea where they are sunk, with the therapists as sacrificial offerings. This has no effect.