o, this sea
  of living , mortal blood -
sleeps in the silage of
    gleaming flesh

us, the brute million,
    enisled here, fish roaming
  up and about hurried currents,
   a muddle of breath aloud
      or a hoard of a dream,

  we, wet with continuities.
   ah, populace, maddened
    furiously sauntering
    back to homes.