{The Inclination}

two dots smeared on a drop sunk into the top and starting to rot plip plop skip hop skull tock crick crock moving at slow straying from stop flailing in tow of the rising tides globs of sand disappearing under tan blowing in the granules listening to the panning jewels vibrations span the pool and land in hands that brandish tools powered by the plug ensued in suit of branding tongues with tooth
and into the red bled black with swirls streaming from the crack in the color ominous odor fighting with stubble scrapping the muzzle and grinning through troubles tainted by subtle supposition rendered in fat and fattened by fate strangled in safety and pinned against the rail screaming and breaking until the flesh deprived itself of breath until the breath described itself with wet until the wet would weep into flesh seep into sex and excrete itself red
but the hands held the tools
chased by the chasing chain inserted in locks metal scrapes tasted of day antagonized by the rusting sail freedom smelled of lasting impressions and scars healed black with an aftertaste that tasted of crimson tasting lilac
and still pushed forward the backward motion pulling itself behind out of the sky and into the darkness shattering stars with sickness gripping stiffness diamonds cutting diamonds cutting rhinestones cutting themselves down to sizable slices served with cider and ice dripping enticing signs of the second hand in the charcoal smeared across the char and healing
and dealing with the situation at hand