First Thing

Drown on all fours Pennies from a box flood the frump market Blasts of nacre, triage under weather’s speckled pool The idée fixe never happens yet can’t be ignored Still the moon is half full? Speak for yourself with your hands up The search is on Search and destroy, if you will Elimination starting with a lit fuse Vacuumed anon Your pleasure is the lee shore Thunder smites the tundra’s paw This should be memorable Legs whited out The runners advance