Achtung called it and that would be the last
word referring to algae in Albany Bulb inclementing,
exponential tenaments — also clams, barnacles, soft bodies
that dents soma response to soma. Miles away a man known as
my boss eats Louisiana Clams. Pounds of clams
scattering light. Magnet filings, roving static,
infinitesimal masses on a compact surface,
clinging to the hard surfaces of the sea.
That is: the mollusks they slut it up.
The mollusks they are so promiscuous.
Then: silhouette of a boy flashing a back flip.
He’s never done it before. Thus, his body
has recently developed
new synthesis of prior experience.
She knows this and is
a broken line in my midwinter day.
Stop. She said.
That’s enough, while I was trying to put a cock
in her. A dildo, to be PC. I am crestfallen, this
boy living bare to life, *Homo Sacer*, quoteth a theory bro
The theory bro is me and the theory bro sayeth,
“I swallow buckets of sea while you swallow buckets of cum.”
“There is a kite surfer bobbing, a human trout.”
“The melted face of the sea are effluvia, gelatinous, purple, littered on the beach.”
Slut, I curse, finding thin lines in the washed up skin.
A body is found in the sea.
The lines on the skin ballooning like the curves of
sheep, green hillocks, women in a regime
of body positivity, previously. Not a man. Not Homo Sacer,
or almost a man,
defines, Agamben, is a man a subject-----
a man favoring what-----life
a man condemned-----
unwilling, desperate, man hung on a line,
a dredged body from the mirror-grey sea.
Finding out, the lines on the body confess,
remember: my body that I found,
I was sad here, disappointed there, delighted here and there.
