Scandal Bag

By | 1 February 2020
The scandal bag spilled its belly on the foreshore
filling the sand with foam, bile, grabba, and
a plastic film that suffocated
tamarind seeds studded with sugar.

It was a black jellyfish swimming in streams of squid ink,
propelled forward in a constant propulsion
of passive energy recapture,
chased by cords of fibrin and
streams of semen
ejaculated across a cloudy night sky.

It was gelatinous,
inflated by global warming,
a hydrostatic skeleton holding up
canals filled with cilia,
filaments flexing,
lobes, lappets, Viagra,
a manubrium fucking
mouth sucking
anus with umbrella shaped bells, balls,
tentacles with stinging cells and testicles.

Swimming with other scandal bags,
vast blooms in warm waters,
vessels, tangled ghost nets
clogging ship engines.

The scandal bag was without a respiratory,
or central nervous system.
It was without color television, air-conditioning,
wifi or superannuation.

It was an all-seeing ocellus,
splitting itself in half, and half, and half again
in infinite fission,
until the sea was full of its proteins, collagen,
petroleum, ammonia, anxiety,
and depression.

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