Interstellar

the
Squeem
ARE COMING
wrestling in the creek
slipping on rocks
and painful bruises
spreading on heathen energy skin
bubbling under the savage
November Moon (moons of ice)
on the peripheral vision
ocean spray blue by reflection
the squarking of the baby seals
a horror phone by soundwave

their hate knows no noteworthy
justification
FOR 'ol Pete to reincarnate
Bodhisattva
on the cold spun beach echoes
in disappearing pogrom