A poem, self-consciously surreal for the NaPoWriMo prompt. The list of words to use to construct the poem is (I think) an interesting one. I chose: owl, river, oyster, thunder, gutter, mercurial, salt, acorn and quahog. I have no idea what a quahog is, so I imagined the kind of wild pig that crashes about around here.

Association of ideas, I expect, but I noticed that one or two of the initial words cropped up in the questions suggested by other words, like oystercatcher answering the salt question, and quahog answering the thunder question.

A piece of dying

A piece of the sky calls me home
where the rugged skins of raw stones go,
when the angler fish swishes its light bulb tail,
and constellations close in tight ridged ranks,
spit out moon pips.

Higher still, quahog hooves
pound the drumskin of the sky,
striking sparks from clouds.

Thunderer, along…