He's backwards - impractical, practically
snapping from the woefully composed laughing.
He's properly combating the raft of phantoms
bathing in his atoms; at least that's
what he tells himself when the
rabbit breaches the furthest fathom.
It's a rerun he's now seen some obscene sum.
The captain is a mad man and refuses to fasten the cannons.
Life lines turned into talons and punctured his rat lungs
leaving him breathless in a land of gasping rascals.
There's no need to speak when factions keep acting
like fractions; can't you see that classes are shackles
meant to keep you distracted via splashes.