i was a picnic

               i was a picnic,
lost at a sea-cliff
               threatening to storm
                        out into the whirlwind;
         a dry crumb in the wicker laugh
snapped into an iron voice:
                     storm on, storm on!
or flop to the bottom
            in a howl distinct as the fire
gone out in an eye:
            brief reflection
  of those who arrived...
                                    half had vanished &
                           half were half-gone
where data trembled & disappeared
sudden as paint;   har-harring
                        you slipped into sea brine,
      . . .  still a bit tacky
and threatened by ghost gulls—
  not a little bit icky
                        & drenched in choked glances
with less silence &        
more oomph than reasoning,
                        & with price quotations
   rather than urghhh .........
                        i torqued & spluttered               
as the storm worried on
            & with a seasonal sigh,
floating while drowning,
                                 the near moon
              was carried off in small bits
by army ants

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