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| Morro Rock |
Nothing would stay put in those heaves.
They stabbed and stuck, with spiny gills
and needle-like teeth; sharp fins sheared
through burlap--I wanted to murder
them there. Lingcod gorged
on snapper even in my sack,
tails protruding
from insatiable maws,
heads stuck
in dead throats--and me,
with hopeless legs, clinging
to the railing
while the deckhand chuckled,
and the whole world rolled,
unable to leap into the waves.
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