Waterlogged

When dilapidated eels
Stacked tightly like old Lincoln Logs
Grow stiff with rigor mortis
And thinly spread algae seals in the cracks between their oily flesh,

A roof made of woven seaweed
And conch shell estuaries
    
    Where the body meets the mind

Are applied as decorative devices
To each corner of the house

Reviews

[Brittany]

I love the pictures your words make in my brain. Superb Timmy. This is like a stop-motion by the Quay Brothers. Me likey.

[jenniewren (J.W. Bouwma..]

gorgeous. gorgeous..

dilapidated is one of my favourite words.. as is estuaries.. mostly because they feel so delicious to say..

but then, so does this poem