Haughty citrus can’t touch us. Mock orange.

Scavenge rank-rat, buoyant knotweed, bull’s mane,

bland kit kelp. Above? Sun ground satchel. Sponge

blue sea snail. Small island unwound. A skein

gone all skank. Drowned? Ferry sound: blub-dub-dank

-wank. What noise? It could mean anything, dear…

save *that*. Never that. Even at point-blank

range you miss. Saint Lisbon of Tram Cars, hear

me out. Dub step. “Don’t let your son go down

on me./ Meat for Lent, I mean/ Bent. I mean,

Bum–” O what a giveaway! Saint of hills,

thrills, warps riddled corpse. Staghorn fingers ground

round. I mean, “I know kelp.” Even brown-green

dank-drab. Crab pink. Cunt blue. Sea sucks? Sea swills.