And the sea wave, wasted on its want, too, takes the method to
              heart and crashes against. Life-like, I waste, too. My hit comes 

again and the green breath breaks against as for rock leaping at
              and far beyond the surface, its wet fiction, the facts of fracture 

mere seed locked down in the wave. O well with a false bottom,
              no, pit, undrinkable, I drink from you and dawn to find I drank.

I am no current but a bolt. This time I will exit myself, sure, but
              then again I wonder through a valley with an exit sign every time.

My hit comes again and the jealous breath breaks. My hell come
              again and again and against. That old edge. Like breathing so life-

like breath wastes itself over me. There was a time the tremor
              came and halved the vane it struck with a love like a bell that rang 

to the body of the sea. There was that jolt. But I’m no current but
              a volt and chain. And control, that thing with a hull with a hole.