|
stork daddy
|
a long ballast blast
across the undulating darkness
of a whale's dark water back.
a bright and hidden underside
above permissive
but not compulsory depths.
but what if you have to be it all.
what if you have no choice
but to be a part of the night.
you are a black branch
on a tree so thick
it obscures the sky
it obscures its own reaches
at any given point.
a long ballast blast
across the dark water back.
and then diving.
the night comes up in bubbles.
sad stories, entire lifetimes
never lived, regrets and reliefs.
there is no such thing as morning,
the night waits patiently
while the world dives from it
then comes hurtling back.
giant and ineffectual,
the world, gasps
blasts, ballasts,
and the night only ripples
and returns, enveloping
each movement we make perfectly
with the same uniform pressure.
the stars, the reflection of stars
all the same thing.
a whale, a dark water back,
carrying the night
and carried by it,
a dark yo-yo
diving and then spinning up
and back.
loneliness one huge thing
and a lot of little things.
songs are pressed out
like toothpaste with irridescent
tonalities
through a coursing sea.
a return song
less lonely, ultimately lonely.
there are distinctions, there are no discinctions.
every dive an ancient whale
takes in the corner of some
unmapped sea
becomes the dark water
blankets of your night.
you shift uneasily in your bed
and cannot sleep.
as your head turns up
you are the star
some leviathan eye
beholds as it sadly
returns to its underworld
of repitition.
this is music, this is love
this is death you have no proof of.
a dark water ballast blast
a back endless if the lines
are blurred.
tired eyes cannot help but blur.
the world returns like a yo-yo
to another night.
|
050517
|
