Entering the upper-atmosphere the black gold burns a racing stripe in a satellite and destroys cellphone reception on an arc across it’s descent line to crash into a secret marine base. From a lulling corridor some broken record message in a bottle repeats across the radio signals and submariner clicks. A dolphin interrupts the transmission speaking to us from many miles. The oceans marching. Nodding kelp. Wriggling reef dries to a desert canyon. The sky is freckled with fire and the wolves are working in the mines. Falling through fanged flute tongue stalagmites the hammers find the punctuations for the growling gold belly lurching the ferris wheel future furnace into translating a pulsar’s speech to a dolphin congress. pulsating light ribbons in the forest undulate with machine birds driving helium balloons past the antigravity vehicle stuck half in a vortex trying to squeegee the clouds with oil repellant.