SHARK ATTACK!!!

The shark in the harbor,
an aimless fin,
is spinning out its hours
in purposeless circles
always moving,
(...must keep moving...),
one thought, one undulating necessity.

If you attach meaning to momentum
while movement is motivated by nothing
save instinct, the deep inkwell of the ocean
will devour you, will write you
out of the will.  What is this red ribbon
spilled, the words staining my fingers?

When the scent of blood comes,
conveyed on warm currents
of fervent salt,
all the lazy animation is forgotten.
Meaning is met by the scar
in the water, adrenaline
defending your right to this life.

Silver glides inside,
underneath the blue
canopy,
and disappears.
There is a closing
tunnel of light...

The detritus is a kind of snow
falling
slowly,
in intricate spirals
with particular wings
until...
found by gravity
on the pacific floor.