CHICKEN of the SEA.

 

A wingless chicken floats

above the depths of

briny wash.

Without, the placeless atmosphere breathes hotly

on white goosebumps which point upward, out, 

and back around.

Swirving in a chicken sea of salty, watered yellow soup,

a tailspin bowls him clockwise, (sucking oil beads loose, 

in rows, that wave most nervously behind).
It has bombarded him with seaweed [sailing salad, 

navigating on a meatless soup].

Chicken/see the point in sky

thru' narrow tunnel at your ear.

Nor spoons, nor metal stirring rods

scratch 'round such thundrous doomsdays as 

unquestionably end-all as you think you hear.

A sparkle on the WIDE LIGHT BLUE,

MOST DIMLY SEEN FROM SOGGY PERCH;

Unfeathered,  hopeless, crying bird,

in a wine-dark maze, without his head,

In vain attempts to squawk aloud. 

In vain, the muffled snorts re-echo 

to the airy lid.

As Giant Woman peers from lifted tin:

The little chicken paddles

through the yellow wash, in circles,
near the cold-gray walls of metal

of the soup pan he is in.