Food chain

Bottom dweller, you blue veined will-be-
chewed. Blind, little bird: fanning the
sundontshine, your backwards scuttle
through sand auras, endless illusion
of movement: the ocean’s fossil
deciding how to be remembered.
You with your tentacled ‘stache tickling
perfectly-rounded-discards--the wastes
you nibble till cheaper with the head
they’ll flashfreeze you by the bag: the pinch
twist tail--your shell off’ed in one, easy
pull, makes their fingers itch.