(s) jenn ghetto
in a basement,
i saw her fins hatch from her bare lace back
and plea to transform the atmosphere around them
but
she sent ripples of nothing, and shards of defeat, to her knees
as the crowd in the back absconded faster, and faster,
a nearing winter in their eyes, and the flocks buzz muffling,
jenny was left alone there, newborn, thirsty, stillborn, thirsty,

there is no catching up, when there is no breeze
in this place where only the air-born,
right-brained, HE's with fringgged extremities
are sanctioned to exist,  to own the ground,
to own the air, and every inkling to sea, port, pond, and coast,
feathers beat scales, feathers beat -

their swagger is two inches behind sound,
including jenny's caterwauls,
the poor game---(s),
you should've heard her swim.