Syzygy

like watching fish swim in television, weary tampion plug shrouding, murmured gills and venomous scales of commerce on the sunken city, in barnacled palatine orange-pink and white powder jewels, grist from a hundred year old soil, siloed and motley with cucumbered headspace, a sweatband of joy and pearls, embroidered seance troubling,  fountains of street thugs, perpetual youth, lip-blood and rusty, drab deciduous vermin stirred, lords and ladys; there was a journal entry about waiting on an inevitable lack of scoring, vamps and mugwumps, sea dragons with traveler's cheques and scrotum, surgical, opened with heavy machinery, street-level bombs, Vauxhall mechanics, dewy mead,  red grass