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Description
Headlong, thrust into that frothy cauldron
Of melted jade, the salted seawater,
The fish girl falls.  Stuttering trails of iridescent pink
Pepper the waves.  There is no funeral.
Songs for the dead half-bride steep
Among the sweet rose foam, the tombs of air,
Like ill-spilled blood soaking through sheer white linen.
There are no cries.  The merchild
Stubbed her tongue for a pair of spindles
With a knife in each fat fin.
She lost a throat for unfelt legs.
Unpeeled of her virgin stringencies,
She wriggled each knobbed split-tail with strange affection,
New fins for old.  She lets no pain deter her.
Her stubs ignored, save for the red swell of her heart,
Plush and full, the bosom of a peacock.
There is no love.  It's been sold
To a natural maiden, legged and bosomed
From soft true birth. The false
Girl, fish born with a sea salt soul,
Stuffs her chest, full with fresh lungs, with heavy, wet sobs
And leaps, without fail, newly
Suicidal, off the edge of dreaming.

Description
Headlong, thrust into that frothy cauldron
Of melted jade, the salted seawater,
The fish girl falls.  Stuttering trails of iridescent pink
Pepper the waves.  There is no funeral.
Songs for the dead half-bride steep
Among the sweet rose foam, the tombs of air,
Like ill-spilled blood soaking through sheer white linen.
There are no cries.  The merchild
Stubbed her tongue for a pair of spindles
With a knife in each fat fin.
She lost a throat for unfelt legs.
Unpeeled of her virgin stringencies,
She wriggled each knobbed split-tail with strange affection,
New fins for old.  She lets no pain deter her.
Her stubs ignored, save for the red swell of her heart,
Plush and full, the bosom of a peacock.
There is no love.  It's been sold
To a natural maiden, legged and bosomed
From soft true birth. The false
Girl, fish born with a sea salt soul,
Stuffs her chest, full with fresh lungs, with heavy, wet sobs
And leaps, without fail, newly
Suicidal, off the edge of dreaming.