First Thing

Drown on all fours

Pennies from a box flood the frump market

Blasts of nacre, triage under weather’s speckled pool

The idée fixe never happens yet can’t be ignored

Still the moon is half full?

Speak for yourself with your hands up

The search is on

Search and destroy, if you will

Elimination starting with a lit fuse

Vacuumed anon

Your pleasure is the lee shore

Thunder smites the tundra’s paw

This should be memorable

Legs whited out

The runners advance