Here at the Super Duper, in a glass tank br Supplied by a rill of cold fresh water br Running down a glass washboard at one end br And siphoned off at the other, and so br Perpetually renewed, a herd of lobster br Is made available to the customer br Who may choose whichever one he wants br To carry home and drop into boiling water br And serve with a sauce of melted butter. br br Meanwhile, the beauty of strangeness marks br These creatures, who move (when they do) br With a slow, vague wavering of claws, br The somnambulist¹s effortless clambering br As he crawls over the shell of a dream br Resembling himself. Their velvet colors, br Mud red, bruise purple, cadaver green br Speckled with black, their camouflage at home, br Make them conspicuous here in the strong br Day-imitating light, the incommensurable br Philosophers and at the same time victims br Herded together in the marketplace, asleep br Except for certain tentative gestures br Of their antennae, or their imperial claws br Pegged shut with a whittled stick at the wrist. br br We inlanders, buying our needful food, br Pause over these slow, gigantic spiders br That spin not. We pause and are bemused, br And sometimes it happens that a mind sinks down br To the blind abyss in a swirl of sand, goes cold br And archaic in a carapace of horn, br Thinking: There's something underneath the world. br br The flame beneath the pot that boils the water.