Storm

a.

I beheld vast emptiness- - before the line;
after the sand; into my droopy eyes. But,
nothing. But, none.

The trouble is: the sea is too fucking calm
in my mind. Sails and winds and rudders
ride easy on these waters; but imagination
who admits a father; will bear no son here.

b.

That there are none:
the agony that ought to come; the tides raging; the
jutting shoals; the wounds; the zoom-crashing stars; the
wide-eyed shots; the headshots of captains on sides of ships; the
pirates and their petty invasions; rain and thunder; mercy and
her forces trickling from carpets and skies; the sharks and brutal;
the strangers dueling; and in breeding beds and nests; whirlpools
of comfort; where we find predators and prey; the ozymandias
pyramid of plankton; monsters; and that we reduce
to and call life; call it the mastery over darkness; over
oblivion; and declare it better than nothing; from
underneath the ripe muscles of a heart; the grasping
for territories unhinged; fires and drowning; the gargling
in brine; of sand splashing; great empire-building
in the head; rise of the imperial sun by hand; there
the obliteration of our adversaries; that there
would be the madness; and crazy conquests;
and crime; and peace; cause; and punishment;
all through that; and some pathetic fallacy;
ought still glitter in my mind;
but none.

c.

If only I could hold out a giant ladle and
crack open my skull and stir the insides:
scramble the calmness; cook a storm.

And make a contribution to Phrenology.

d.

I believe,
when the sea holds out staid, life freezes.

That creation occurs only in marriage of
the mind in troubled seas and nothing,
absolutely nothing in sanity.



cuRRent..jer  ¶ 10:08 pm