As the shape all sun
tore up the curtain
of blood and ululation,
everything in Tunisia,
as stricken by a wand,
came to a standstill,
and slipped away
from the senses -
Even rivers stopped.

Medjerda* froze
halfway
through the descent
to his destination,
as he realized
he’d been making a fatal error:
pouring forth all his passion
into the ocean.

So he stopped,
retracted his course,
re-collected himself,
and started flowing backward,
toward
the source
in the Atlas
that had bidden him
farewell.

In his spear head
there was a design:
start a new chaos
in the valley,
in which there would be
a sweet-water lake
and sailors drunk
with sunbeams, sweat
and pleasure.
Butterflies would flutter
around the scent of mint
and bluegreen rosemary.
Sweet Moon to Sweet Lake
would come, unannounced,
In the rays of the nightlight
of the fluttering night
to watch her self
shoot
the scene
of representation.

The river, now swimming
in his own water,  
carried the sky on his shoulder,
while an ant and a grasshopper,
holding a basket together,
watched the new scene.

As the figure all sun appeared ,
reason melted;
imagination
her hazel eyes opened.

*Medjerda is the most important river in Tunisia. Length, 460 km; basin area, 22,000 sq km. It flows out of the Atlas mountains into the Gulf of Tunis.
© LazharBouazzi, June 16, 2016

As the shape-all-sun
tore up the curtain
of blood and ululation,
everything in Tunisia,
as stricken by a wand,
came to a standstill,
and slipped away
from the senses -
Even rivers stopped.

Medjerda* froze
halfway
through his descent
to his destination,
as he realized
he’d been making a fatal error:
pouring forth all his passion
into the ocean.

So he stopped,
retracted his course,
re-collected himself,
and started flowing backward,
toward
the source
in the Atlas
that had bidden him
farewell.

In his spear head
there was a design:
start a new chaos
in the valley,
in which there would be
a sweet-water lake
and sailors drunk
with sunbeams, sweat
and pleasure.
Butterflies would flutter
around the scent of mint
and bluegreen rosemary.
Through the flutter
of the midnight hour
Sweet Moon to Sweet Lake
would come, unannounced,
to watch her self shooting
the act of representation.

Now swimming
in his own water,
th river
carried the sky on his shoulder,
while an ant and a grasshopper,
holding a basket together,
watched the new scene.

As the figure-all-sun appeared ,
reason melted;
imagination
her hazel eyes opened.

© LazharBouazzi

*Medjerda is the most important river in Tunisia. Length, 460 km; basin area, 22,000 sq km. It flows out of the Atlas mountains into the Gulf of Tunis.

Nobody in the lane, and nothing, nothing but blackberries,
Blackberries on either side, though on the right mainly,
A blackberry alley, going down in hooks, and a sea
Somewhere at the end of it, heaving. Blackberries
Big as the ball of my thumb, and dumb as eyes
Ebon in the hedges, fat
With blue-red juices. These they squander on my fingers.
I had not asked for such a blood sisterhood; they must love me.
They accommodate themselves to my milkbottle, flattening their sides.

Overhead go the choughs in black, cacophonous flocks --
Bits of burnt paper wheeling in a blown sky.
Theirs is the only voice, protesting, protesting.
I do not think the sea will appear at all.
The high, green meadows are glowing, as if lit from within.
I come to one bush of berries so ripe it is a bush of flies,
Hanging their bluegreen bellies and their wing panes in a Chinese screen.
The honey-feast of the berries has stunned them; they believe in heaven.
One more hook, and the berries and bushes end.

The only thing to come now is the sea.
From between two hills a sudden wind funnels at me,
Slapping its phantom laundry in my face.
These hills are too green and sweet to have tasted salt.
I follow the sheep path between them. A last hook brings me
To the hills' northern face, and the face is orange rock
That looks out on nothing, nothing but a great space
Of white and pewter lights, and a din like silversmiths
Beating and beating at an intractable metal.

I
I stole my brother’s car and drove to Phoenix in the dark. Bluegreen glow of dashboard gauges, the faint scent of roadkill and desert marigolds. Tap. Tap. Tap. Insects slapping the windshield like rain. How many miles does it take to turn yourself around, to rise up from ashes? Keep driving. Drive until the sun blooms.

II
Some days were more dire than others. CCTV footage confirms I pawned a shotgun, a Gibson guitar, and my wife’s engagement ring at the pawnshop next to Fatty’s Tattoo parlor. The typographically accurate Declaration of Independence inscribed on my back also confirms this.

III
I ran the tilt-a-whirl at the Ashtabula county fair, fattening up on fried Oreos and elephant ears, flirting behind tent ***** with the cute contortionist with strawberry-blonde hair.

IV
I derailed in a dive bar.

V
I disappeared in a city lit by lavender streetlights, where buildings blotted out the stars and the traffic signals kept perfect time.
I picked through trash bins. I paid for love with drugstore wine.

VI
I closed my eyes on a mountain road. The sheriff extracted me from a ****** snowbank.

VII
I holed up for weeks in an oceanfront motel, dazed by the roar of the breakers. Each morning I drew back the curtains and lost myself in the crisscrossing patterns of whitecaps, the synchronous flight of sanderlings above the dunes. I dreamed of dead horseshoe ***** rolling in with the tide.

VIII
The moon over my shoulder tightened into focus like a prison spotlight. One night the barking dogs undid me. Goodnight, children. Goodbye, my love. I capitulated to the candor of a naked mattress. I grew my beard, an insomniac in a jail cell clinging to bars the color of a morning dove.

IV
I coveted the house keys of strangers.

X
I opened and closed many doors. I sang into the mouths of storm drains. I stepped out of many rooms only to find myself in the room I had just left. Despite all my leaving, I remained.

I used to float
Weightless and free
In a sea of blue green
But now I'm just drowning
Slipping father under
There's no way out
Of this blue green
Abyss

I do not turn to poetry
to rescue me from memory;
on the contrary,
I conjure the red humming bee
on the bluegreen rosemary tree,
I teased when I was a carefree
boy, in the backyard,
only to roll with the punches -
aye, with the punches - of synecdoche.

© LazharBouazzi, May 2016

A reminder of the shorter days
the orange globe sinks into haze
no longer casting warming rays
but shadows into night

the coolness of softest sand
beneath my back and in my hand
from where I lay there
breathing
taking in this awesome sight~

fighting sleep and fascinated
I face the setting sun
and every stroke of the painter's brush
lingers
before it's done.

firey red excites the soul
and set the mood in motion
orange and pink elicit sighs
like a full moon upon the ocean

streaks of purple are always fun
and bring on the bluegreen hues
a symphony for the setting sun
but gimmee the midnight blues

I want to gaze into the glory
tell me another story
oh bring on the colors
don't let me sleep too long~

I want to sing of your greatness
inspite of all my lateness
and whatever else my troubles
you see in me no wrong~

oh Lord, You are amazing
all creation should be praising,
I'll wait for you forever
or 'til the sun sets on my song.

daylight has passed quickly
that sunset was the best
in the darkness now, we hear the waves
which won't disrurb our rest

Her heart, beguilingly  florescent, spoke to mine,in signs invisible
when the night wore her darkest  cloak,making me lose my way
when I didn't know which way to turn and stood perplexed
her love spreads magic, emits colors, eloquent and sincere
pleasing not only to my eyes but heart too in tune with my beats.

Some times we were birds,wings lift us  involuntarily above winds
we would climb up through dark dark clouds, that wore thunder bolts
her love takes me by hand , navigates, her fluorescence was in full play,
love makes us favorites of winds,raging waves, sprays and water.

Under water love showed us magical colors,melting drops of bluegreen
tinged light, spoke tales of love to our entropic  hearts, that listened,
across the seas we swam propelling mind through incredible depths,
underwater castles waited for us , but in each other we were lost.

Does the kept dog howl at the moon,
or does the stray?
I am astray from you,
and my moon is bluegreen and shines like forgiveness when you smile.
The vagrant hound remembers when he was a wolf;
I remember when I wasn’t.
Like him, I eat and sleep and ****
beneath even my own notice. Like him,
I remember every night of comfort and
every kick, and am confused when I find both in the same doorway.
I wasn’t a cur until you called me one – does that count?
When the rains come, I think of your
soft golden warmth, these mongrel legs start to pull me back – don’t
let me in unless you mean to keep me – and my howl is
sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry and I
don’t know which of us I hate.

It zips forward and past,
Through and around,
Tick Tock goes the hazy clock,
Apples decay to fuzzy and shriveled husks,
Beside blooming lilies.

Just five and a half years,
Transformation in the oddest of ways,
arriving bitter and broken,
Moving along this next path as excited and improved.

Momentum gaining,
like breaking into a run downhill,
where any moment's hesitation brings devastation and disorientation,
Heartbeat hammering from a stone solid 50 to 105,
is it anticipation that drives this acceleration.

Ecstasy of movement and insanity,
like feather brushes of fae-like intent,
getting lost in fogs of spirituality and philosophy.
Brutal momentum of guitar strings being finger picked,
Psychically projecting images of brutal revenge and bitter grief

Madness? No
******....

What are you, a cop?

Missing a step now,
the stumble turns into a tumble,
as the green of the grass flash past, as does the blue-white of the sky. Blue then green, blue then green,
blue green,blue green, blue green,
bluegreen, bluegreen, bluegreen
bluegreenbluegreenbluegreenbluegreen.

The hill turned out to be a cliff,
stomach roiling as I fall,
into some fantastic and manic vision below.

i am nothing but
meat, pinkslick pockets of what
the stars have wasted
nestled rosytight
galaxies swimming in my
bluegreen dust channels
let the rest of me
rot, fraying bits slowly peel
back to show the bone

Robert Frost acquainted with night
My favorite time to play

Taipei 101
Taipei still xie xie

Motorcycle taxis
Bangkok all the way

Jeremy in Hong Kong
Silently I pray

      BlueGreen Bay

4:00 a.m again.
The bluegreen lanterns fly the sky,
Guding me home.

My eyes fall like bricks.
Sinking into the water,
The overflowing madness in my mind.
Salted by the drops within my eyes.

As the water begins to stir,
My mind becomes a blur.
Blackened liquid waves rage in a craze

Winter winds blow.
Send ice and snow.
As i toss a match to set the wave
Ablaze.

This clawing red monster,
I let her grow stronger.
She takes my hand,
Tell's me she'll show me the way.

A turn of the wheel,
A press of the foot,
And all i know
Turned to soot.

And then my friend.
That winter wind.
Turns back the wheel once again.
The ash and gloom,
My blazing doom.
Only the beast of my heavyset eyes.

That bluegreen mist, lighting the skies.
And those lanterns float, my guides.

Tighten my grip on the wheel,
While gently caressing the pedal.

It's 4:01 a.m again.

quiet little library
memories in my mind
Coastal California
San Francisco signs

i like misty mountains
oceans gone bluegreen
David Markson books
she and i between

i might sleep till 2
don't know what I'll find
for my future friends
water worlds unwind

       Johnny 99!

there is poetry inside of your skin. find the madness that forms words and cling to it.

find the girls with soft skin, all pink and wet and meatslick on the inside. open them up again and again and again, between her thighs and a thousand smiles to god.

find that fuckery inside you which gives off the airs of someone holier than thou and strangle it. give up on affectations and disregard your own thoughts of superiority.

watch the shadows in your veins, watch them bleed darker and darker between the crooks and corners of your hand and follow them into the depths of your elbows, into the folds we cannot reach or see. do not be afraid of these dark creatures that are swimming in your bluegreen dusk channels. they buzz under your skin and you must cut them free.

do not be afraid, for you are nothing but this body.

windows to the soul indeed
in my mother's golden brown
and my beloved's oceanic bluegreen
i see ghosts that will never find peace.

in others,
changing hazel and sky blue,
i see sparkling rays of sunlight;
no shadows, no ghosts.

i can't bear to look.

Bluegreen complexion taught ‘round listless soul.
I guess you weren’t there to catch me.
Gray is the sky of my mind, blue out my sill.  

Let’s sit down and tell each other the stories,
Omit the part with tears,
Note the laughs and kisses,
Grapple with the time frame.

Nodding off inside boxes of strange gazes
Only for ever, even off the train.
Where to place my eyes today?

by margaret atwood


I would like to watch you sleeping,
which may not happen
I would like to watch you
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head 
and walk with you through that lucent
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun & three moons
towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fear 
I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center. I would like to follow
you up the long stairway 
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and you enter
it as easily as breathing in 
I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.

Sometimes it is not easy to give
up. You want to know what or
who to belong to. Darkness envelops

hidden parts to this patholigica.

If I cannot see myself, then who is
it that I am residing with? She calls to me
from behind the glass, love is my own

to behold from inside clear eyes.

What do I (want to) know? Who does she
long to be, when only half of the darkened side
decides to rush out these noises. She

watches me as she sleeps.

How can I know what this obscure
creature needs (to be)? Long hair drapes
from the edge of the violet pillow, washed black

from auburn, curls ever pointing down.

The empty is like the clear bluegreen inside
my darkness. She has her own voices, is lonely
from the silence I gave her. It is time she knew again

what their shapes sounded like.


© March 30th 2014

i sit in the low afternoon
sun
the warmth of it's rays negligable, but the colours
of it's farewell glorious.

in the lilac bush, still holding
green, the bluewrens chitter,
gossip, chirk and flirt away..
as they dart and flicker from twig to twig.
i think what a bluegreen end to a greyblack day....

and the sun shines,orange
and peach and the horizon
takes that lavender hue.

as the sky fades to deepest
blue.... my thoughts my friend, settle on you...
farewell my sunny friend
                                    farewell.

what should, could... what one would otherwise
do-not-do...
when language policing is so enforced
that i just... have to... punctuate a stutter or
at least suppose so on
a racial slur, a slurp-up stricken by ice,
and cold... and if lambs had elbows...
this modus operandi of post-colonial peoples
this crucifixion self-laceration
hard-on... which i want a taste of:
bad person, forever... murderer...
since there was no censor at work
around an added G: for giggle's worth...
and an existent R - although in english
there's no trill of it... no thrill, of it so...
nay bovver...
'aggis neeps 'n' tatties...
      otherwise the swede of the suede
is a bit like digesting blue & shoe...
once upon a time two bottles of wine
and i'd be off my rockers in
a little town in Essex where the women
are as fine as nuns and
sooner a cow-*****-******* for milk than...
Juan a-hey-presto... stand... night...
unbearable...
the less *** i've had the more
this... one-armed gambit does... the more...
of the trickery...
not overloading on the use
of a definite article...
but... it's so much easier to curl a hand
into a makeshift ******...
solipsistic *** lives... of... mostly men...
a bit like... regressing / seeing double...
homosexual ***-lives in literature from
the 20th century...
******* literature from the 20th century...
heterosexual antics of men
in the 21st century...
almost a: gleich scheiße,
           anders deckel...
                dekiel.... almost a loan word...
           living in close proximity of: zee schwaben
haben saschisch... aben aben...
perhaps the grammatical
juxtaposing is akin to ancient
Latin, my concern for: anders deckel
or deckel anders...
   same ****, different cover... cover's different...
overstating a fact with
a... conjunction or is it, is, the it...
preposition of... the it is is... Beckett's last
lunch... an hour of sunshine...
keep all chalky 'andy...
beside the apostrophe and the hyphen-conjugate...
glue's not glue:
blue is blue...
green is green...
but there's also... grue...
which is not... y'ella...

          a bluegreen: present grew:
for not yellow...

and i will... entertain... language policing...
over... slurring... past punctuation markers...
like... every time i see a choc-sensation...
no offense - you want the manure skin analogy...
because choc is counter-productive block...
well... let me get on my one remaining
good knee and play tongue the custard
for a Malcolm Noble...

     i would just hate to appease...
it's so ******* boring i'm turning into a boorish
**** of apathy...
by some lineage of argumentation
i've heard the lazy etymological
"argument" that...
from the Caucus... a ****-asian male...
the argument: Paul's a pole...
a pole a Paul's Paul...
            what's missing in... less than germ-
-anic...
                   like it's so simply
Slav(e)...

         less a ****** show & tell a whitey
clad in a bleached ghost necking-tie...
off-on-the-offensive...
   i.e. attack...
      there's a klaus nigge...
      a deutsche photographer...
there's... nigh-ger-ia...
            there's also a Nigh-Ger...
  giggle glutton... gargle... growing pains
in both groin... und gut...

cages i see cages i see tongues in iron
maidens i see souls in hell
and thoughts in limbo...

sound capture... i want to scoop some letters
as almost dead:

  ж = зъ = ż...
    imagine my disbelief at the lack of
orthographical aesthetic...
it only took a dot above the Z
to encourage...

perhaps in braille
perhaps in katakana:

         ⠛⠛⠗

         but letters as atoms of sound...
or methane...
ta-
         ma-
                      -ah
                                   -e contra -eh:
the tetragrammaton my vowel
catcher...
         no surprise of a fire...

hence the surd... like an apostrophe...
extending the saxon
spelling of words into compounds
in the field of chemistry...
a herr adams that wealth of the nations
shamed
jean-paul sartre... lived with his mother
because...

i'll have to leave it to stutter...
overtly punctuated...
no, no surprises...
it's a slur like it might be allowed
for urbanites
and listening to wap folk...
but no: wrap it up
on the horizon... already excluded...
so back to no drawing board...

spikes-up mein jerky chin of a Lee
and says: it's n'ah ah... LEAN...
****** my tongue is harsh but
not towing some unfathomable tie-up...
it's byzantine bilingual
but not... schizoid-teasing-afro-affluence...
like me taking a stab
at living in... h'almighty: Ghana...
visit... Raw-Andy... the Rwandese... plumber...

whereas the romantic affairs
of men are mostly... linear...
the romantic affairs of women
are... overbearingly... cyclic... thus...
what thus?

i'm strapped to a gimmick
and a pseudo expression of lingo...
i'm spineless... death-core....

replenishing the walking abortion(s)...
this ****-job of a man
this scrap heap of egg
and nullifying shells...
like this gargantuan homosexual
**** would never begin
or end with a flower-eater
quest for...
              a drunkard's ****, side...

there aren't enough hours in a day
to want to... beside having to...
listen to bbc radio 3...
once upon a time there was
me guilty of a radio 4 escapade...
but... where there's a t.v.
i'm pretty sure there's no fire-
                           -place....

like the old addition of curating
an attic space: might it be an "also"
cave... without ridicule...
underappreciated...
undermined... this tongue that
does the waggling...
like slurp majestic of floral pattern
*****... well...
i'm tired of the sort of freedom
thus, presented...

here comes the bundle... the bulge...
heaving criss-cross and X's
at the ha ha: stubble pin-point...
yahoo fro Idaho...
this whittle sort
of green patch of land 'n'
h'america..

    my yours truly...
       delving into shelved
secrecies of gluck-winding-back...
clock... there's the admiral...
the hour of our wait...
                the ice creasing a shallot being sliced...
the agony of the wait... the agony
of a yawn... the elongated

tears over an onion...
         if i could claim ownership
for a woman to deposit her
scrutiny of mortality...

yes, this shadow,
yes: this noon...
yes this dwarf of me in shadow grit
drifting toward an apart...

onions for the peel...
i tend to forget what and where
was... "fun"...
i'll hardly want to be left
having inherited
some variation of bias
with either children
or a grandiosity of grand-
   (angwy prefix lady said
so: sock 'em in)

        here's too, a forward...leisurerly
issued: from an Ottoman outpost...
i'm a bad man...
thought language police...
i'm a bad man...
i was inherently bad...
i'm bad i'm bad
i'm terribly... horridly...  anaemic... so...
self-lacerate moi...

cages in their 'eds...
language like afghan
******'s plenty..

better target practice with
those khaki attired
mustard clad foe...
to hell with the **-**-hoes...
i forget what's inclined by stressing
the dynamic of beta...
alpha resources...

as the crucified man said:
if i am not the alpha...
i'm not going to be
the BETA-BUCK-DELUX...

i'll be... last... omega.. "junction"...
yes... i'll be that... just that..
omega malph.

10 percent hope
human element
         Rothko

I rarely see beauty
in this generation's poems

The short and simple lines
just like simply talking

I miss the deep bluegreen words
written by the heart

a bit ridiculous
all the philosophy

ashes to ashes, dust to dust
the end of you and me

grey sky today
far from bluegreen sea

phone call with my son
grateful gratefully

In the middle of the night
As the world shifts towards morning
Streetlight skates across my windshield
Like smoke, glowing bluegreen and purple
A spirit chasing its own breath

5 AM every things all white
Every steps crisp
Wipe away the sleepy bugs
Eyes watery ......
Feels good .....
In transitioning night ending black and white
Sliding into grey
.......
Makin good time traveling
557,000 mph
Hurling through space
Truckin along the same direction this giant stones spinning as it rolls like a giant beautiful wobly
Bluegreen mable around the great inferno .
The mysterious fire .......
One.   Of.    The
Three.    
Trichotomy
In this case
Water air and light
Giver of and sometimes taker of life
Emotions mangled
Bereft of purpose and pride .......
Jezebel ........
Triangles .....  
From Dean Martin
Ta mr bo jangles.
Looked me in the eyes slid the knife in me slowly .....
Smiled
Pulled it out.
Leaking out hope
Filled me with doubt .
Mehhhh!
Boohoo i married an Infidel......
Now im on walk about finding
Me
Serendipity!?!
I trek alone
icy
the frozen landscape  
Glistening
emerging from the gloaming
Into the glow
Directly towards the center of gravity
@ 9941°

Darkness blankets frosted ground
Staring upward into
day break color begins
To Bloom
shades and hues
Attach themselves to what they belong to
The sun chases away the moon
Coffees too strong
Burping up bacon
Off the trail
Staring at a mushroom
............
Ruminating in this simplistic still quiet emptiness ..... The faint .......
Almost inpercievable
Feeling of happiness ....
The hot blood courses into the tiny capilaries of my face
Throbbing
Every beat pounding ..  .pushing it through .........
I think im smiling ........
Or mayby grimacing.....
I picked up a large stone covered in sand now i tryin to swallow it but it wont go down ........
Metaphorically .speaking
And there it is ....
The first of many
The lonely maverick tear
Brave salty and crystal clear
Compassionately
Leaves my eye
Feeling as if he was born for this .........embarks
Parting is such sweet sorrow
Softly caresses my flushed cheek...........
And with great theatrical exiting
Quickly runs towards my chin
To dive off into the great unknown
Gets caught
In the corner of my mouth only
To get swallowed ....
Not to worry ...little buddy
Theres always
Tomorrow
in the distance
Laughter and saturday morn cartoons.
Before me
Past and future confluence
Narrow my field of opportunity and i can see clearly .......
Another cold day looms..............
.........
Im excited for
What ever it may bring!!!!!!

.

The predatory terror in the natural world
Life is Suffering
Antelope Canyon
The joy that children bring

Much time alone
Phone, DVDs
Lonely cool before dawn
Try to show you what I sees

Lithium, Risperidol
Metformin, Hydroxyzine
The admittedly desperate hope
Bluegreen Things Not Seen

Read a lot of books
Nearly 18 years a teacher
In my solitude
I just cannot quite reach her

                     Denver!

For myself: to live again in Seattle
And to die near the boys.

For others: courage in battle
And deep bluegreen joys.

Can't quite forget Vienna
Like a fairy tale in snow
Ludwig Wittgenstein
Poetry you know

Dr. Sigmund Freud
One godless Jew
St. Stephansdom Cathedral
3772

I wanna go down fighting
Wanna go down peace
Actually, Istanbul
More than Ancient Greece

City of Ember remembers
California in the rain
Life is suffering
Bluegreen be my pain

         Toledo, Spain!

Even my best insights
Essentially ignored

Sometimes I write for wisdom
Sometimes because I'm bored

Taiwan was exciting
Thailand was as well

Cambodia was frightening
Nixon's bombs were Hell

Japan: a world of wonder
Hong Kong in the harbor

Golden helmet of Mombrino
A soldier not a barber

My traveling days seem over
Now I only walk

But I have memory stories
You should hear me talk

My youngest son still plays
With bluegreen sidewalk chalk

The loveliness of Stockholm
The charm of old Helsinki

The boat between the two
Karoake I do try

My sons and my cousins
Europeans too

Bluegreen in the water
Purple Rain in the sky!

The pristine expanse of glassy bluegreen
White foam tumbling into nothingness and resurfacing
Long shrill notes that rent the misty air
The high oceans, bedecked with flair
There a glossy fin, there a sleek twisting tail
Boundless eyes, with many a stories to hell
Drowning in freshness, in the midst of human greed
Tis the creed of the mighty ocean, from humane shackles freed