Fire the fingerprint police,
the sun bleached searchers that turn
the righteous disks of inquiry,
those encompassing compasses, here
in the ocean caves where we breathe air,
sweet air, dewy with imprints of the shark
crimes, where the waves carry long lost envelopes,
washed along with the starfish that make forks
for the mighty, where above the prismed moon
is a tooth pushing through to eat us all,
God help us all, while we study a way to escape
when all along we’ve been nothing more
than animated bones in a chalice of blood
waiting to be swallowed whole.