A line so arbitrary that equates
to schizophrenic Planet Earth herself,
we serve our meals upon tectonic plates,
(the ones from off the continental shelf.)
As faults and fissures swim in schools of thought,
with mountains made of molehills on the shore,
those reefers are in corollary caught,
(young Nemo’s found his father’s secret store).
The deepest holes or chasms multiple,
must hide the secret lava in their heart,
from grim volcanoes quite irascible,
as premature eruption mustn’t start.
Oh, where the hell did archipelago?
it’s very nearly isthmus, don’t you know?