150. on earth for fury, fred rescinds

job, remora, rested, rowed,
paused beneath the patterned bulbs,
before reflecting smoke above,
traced the skate he was to scrub

destructive gut, removed, rehung,
slowly stretched the sand among,
resistant, plows, distinguished, dumb,
waving an electric pump

warrior wot, with matchless speed,
simply trips between the weeds,
when it flashes it will mean,
a calling to, a reporting

milk white moses, a tank, a boat is
the bane of all that lays below it,
when it sinks its nets and floats, they
scramble to detach the motor

all hands to, it’s them or moses,
sure they know the danger, though the
nets are almost see-through showing,
and they dredge up all the ocean

limpets, lustres, all encrusters,
fix upon the under-structure,
fish and flies and swimmers other,
synchronize to currents smother

sharks are snapping, false attacking,
anything, discourage dragging,
if the ship cleans out the place,
they’re the first to lose their prey

gulls and frigates, fulminating,
frenzy above, undulating,
when the captain calls to port,
they mob the first mate overboard

pills and plankton, up-enfloating,
a tide of tiny, microscoping,
lure the bigs from depths below, and
breaching, they capsize the boat

soon the fish and fowl and foam will
fit back to each other killing — 
for now a common thrill at kicking
milk white moses in the liquid

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