When Fish Smelled Like Cinnamon Poem by James McLain

Being, it's just,
delirious tuna.
I just know,
there are millions of plates waiting,
how does it,
make the wait forever and a day,
being hungry?
It chases the tuna, being human,
hungry for tuna,
it smells cinnamon,
disguised as tuna in keep.
Thy keep is oh hand, it opens, slowly forever
and it's spray.
The waves foam, the beach moans, the
sands are mined, every thing smells sharp, ly is.
It's eyes deceived, it stores meager it wanders,
forever to fish, one vast ocean is this woman,
of dubious cinnamon origin.