distraction

a guy carrying a whale bone or something else that looks clavicle; can you see him later, flung wide across this inlet bed, no way back from certain verbs, pile another boy on the law of diminishing returns but the deeper you get all the limbs akimble and looking for posture, I used to know how this sentence ended but now I rely on . . . all breath has three beats, surfaces slipping, what he'll wash away later and what he'll tell his friends, bed made with brevity and pressure, the weight of me, how I'd planned what came next, even though I never did though there's a pose for heroes and fish now that I think about it, tighten the rope before it gets away on you, whatever it is, the slow dirtying of laundry, feet making their minds up to smell, places on me untouching the touch of you, we're never noble until it's almost too late, where the broken ones pick up the pieces and then put them down again, better to look out of frame, swear up and down you've done this before, look distracted.