The Corner Ocean

To the edge of the ocean is a point. Sometimes it’ll be 90 degrees. Other times it’ll hit a broad 150 degree. Rolling like people through the mire, divots emerge. The liquid cesspool whirls and congeals laying over each other. Wave begets a wave. A big wave creating a smaller wave along the tips.

These curls trip and bend. As the bow of ship pushes through unwavering, it is the current at an end. This underneath force cannot do much against the propeller. The constant crank echoes underneath sending out its own communication to the dolphins and whales. The mechanics are like lights to a deer. Stunning those stuck within its path. Staring in almost amusement while not comprehending the speed of knots versus miles per hour.

This echo ripples up towards the top of the wave sending an aftershock tremor like a bass thumping from a club quartered by a DJ who can’t drum. The fizz of salt in the water perishes and whips. Flying fish leap in and out of the water hoping to stay afloat long enough to wade into a palm listing in the middle of the desert of the open ocean.

Sounds crank and the ship powers through to the end of the ocean. The world isn’t flat but the ocean appears to flatten through various waves. Half of the ships pulls through the corner while the other side flattens to its own horizon. This wave is a wave within a wave. Bigger than most but the same triangle shape. As currents rip away from the peak, the ship heaves half of its body away from the ocean in a vain attempt to fly.