Stylometric

The house began making decisions, displacing its lineage of concerned owners--
Just as the knowledge of them increases--no trace of vertebral column is found.
Clouds clear, and great groups of animals that existed in their tortuous veins
Begin shaping the room, in whatever adjacent flesh disposes with its polyps and piles. 
Among the spare bathroom cosmetics: a flecked shaving brush, the sink's graying 
Body hairs we seem to have drifted distances. Deposits of industry now lime the faucet,


So uncommon we may ignore them holding colonies above and below. Leaking faucet-
Water draws back its gills, and progress slows to a starfish crawl. Just who is the owner
Of that smile? More like a groove radiating from the hostess, whether in the grayscale
Memory imposes or the cyanotype I have chosen. A few became stemless, letters I found
Where a prehistoric sun scorched, sea level rose or subsided, now crashing into pilings.

A few survived in modern seas attaching themselves, arms branching in the same vein
Catching in the sheets. A mouth was star-shaped, slender arms were broken where veining
Litters the undertow with copies. Drifting into our niches, tortuous S-shaped path of the faucet
Draws off my reserves like moon snails and oyster drills push through that strange flesh piled
Into its many chambers. Many heart urchins plow along the bottom slowly irrespective of the owners, 
Using their spines as stilts, as if to look at what was happening, the robe flares where I found
One smooth, cold thigh shattering her brittle, bleached shell wrapped in a duvet of jade. Gray,


Tentacled shadow shapes the room weighing its renovation, where one prefers to live, graying
Anyway tangled in red spills of algae, stars and sea mice in the wake of acid rain, rusted veins 
Mollusks hasten to encoil; rivets and anchors sinking to the bottom at times, with the unfound
Swimmer. Hidden in our flesh is the entire organ of the house. Stretching between the bilge and faucet.
Still running above the water line, until the teeth cuts the prey to pieces, there burrows the owner 
In a thin layer of sediment until the sand dollar sits down to eat. Some spread their mantles 


To be edible, siphon and plates fitted end to end with apertures nearly as large. Shells founded
As the rock, yet the mouth contains a sharp tongue that is nothing against the starfish, graying
On the beach. Go back to the footprints filled with sand. And blinded, its simple eye. On one's own
The currents are too quiet to topple a creature, long hair whips against the eyes, where seismic veins
Climb up the detritus in slender spires, extends into the water, up from a deep smoking faucet.
Thin, crumpled shells are lustrous, miraculously smooth in the numbered sands. Abundant arms ply


One form of the darkness. A nautilus swims jerkily at least 15,000 feet such that fossils plied on 
We shall read sentences of winged familiars uplands until the rightful fit of the plumbing is found. 
As soon as the house awakened to realities, rugs lined the floors--the kitchen finished with faucets
She acquired mere appendages to an ancestral rage, just as they do in modern species, graying
In wholesale aquariums. The lawn needed mowing badly, but clinging to her shape, perhaps vain
About her clothes, a medusa with open palms insensible barbs puts out an eye. That is, her own.

One form of the darkness redoubled its ply and acquired more appendages--to keep her graying
Secret behind the letters I found (which some species have lost) clinging to their shape perhaps in vain,

She laughs, says you cannot crack the ring of calcite sticking the faucet, putting out the eye that is her own.