When there is no water left, we'll leave. Until then, we ration what we pull from the well. Three-quarters of a bucket for drinking (a full one when the day gets above 90 degrees, which is happening ... [+]
We build our homes From sailors' bones A crown conch amplifies their screams From grooves carved well In scallop's shell The sound brings sirens' sweeter dreams Their femurs frame Each window pane The pelvic girdles top our stools With gut-stitched ribs We craft our cribs And mobiles twirl with human tools Their vertebrae It's safe to say Looks lovely ‘round eel garden beds Our darling pets Play in the mess Of skulls from their discarded heads We take delight In sailors' fright Because our trust begat regrets We used to bathe Above the waves But lost too many to mens' nets From wrecks asho
