The Thing

the tide expels it leaves it wallowing sun blisters the carcass tumbles torn flesh flaps bone snaggles bone a humanness - as if a mangled person trying to escape from coils from death from the ocean within it a kind of birth a kind of shedding a metamorphous becoming night laps at the lolling mound cavities rupture gas bubbles take luminous shape a figure emerges stumbles toward the lights of a village the remains hang together they have been eaten and now they are hungry a raw gaping belly rumbles it imagines fish in a skillet a glass of strong ale waiting for cracked lips