I walk beside a manmade pond With sloping walls Sick with bloom To cut the nausea of the carpet slick They placed six spotlights Dimly shining Making amber of the brine Black seeds and blinded shrimp Held in the cones I dreamed of true magnetic north The water drained Black boulders shone like greased backs The draping skin A muscle twitch A fish would crawl out of its scales To break the skin on the pond To cut the nausea of the carpet slick Instead of standing dimly on the wall Magnetic north is pounding in my ears True north is somewhere deep inside the amber cones