The Rip
If I
grip for none-
ness, one
less, the side-
walk takes
to water.
Stray bass
tilts the rust-
lake, rented
ringing
in my index,
think-
stain-
veined, up-
stream petals
tamped
between re-
ticulated
spines—
Double-
nighted
brackish
one
A rising
tide rever-
tebrates our
cardiac
deposit
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