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werewolf
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from afar there is a spectrum of blue, like the periodic and strategic
teal luminesence
of societal baceteria (v. harveyi
to be exact) in an ocean
of replaceable and dependable depths.
survival is what is real, and it exists in a thread, in a word, like
chemicals released to threshold density, something so vital
it has unlocked the breath,
it is pronounced: sun, warmth, water,
swelling, teeth.
it is shared,
that which has poisoned;
filtered down, dilluted in conjunctions and definite articles,
to help build immunities.
heartbreaks are put above, away from hearts, overhead
like drawings of the sun,
remedies are passed along in whispers, struggles offloaded into a blank moon.
there is commerce
in a lonely sea.
there is a possible world where nothing was taken from that moon,
where it sat cold like a virgin,
like a goddess never carved,
left in the stone.
where the waters did not undulate
with reactive lights,
feasting on the practically unpredictable, finding what is perfect in imperfections.
I have moved amongst this, words like trojan horses, loaded with my dreams
and implications,
i have cajoled from you your own tender opinings and they have
changed the boundries,
suddenly there was nowhere
to draw the end of my world,
nowhere the buck stopped,
and depth became a permanent dissatisfaction,
distance from the sun my only measurment of what is real, discrete, or possible.
still i held my breath
and plunged.
words dissolved,
drawn deeper from the references which moor them,
into depths where there is nothing much to talk about that would mean anything to the rhythms our heart
first knows, first learns.
we attempt to find those rhythms in the faint depths, but it is our own heart we hear.
we return tired, and we share again in small doses the poisons of depth,
"do not seek out the world, wait for it to enter our lines of reasoning, the perimeters we've set up, for it to become necessary or useful."
but i sought to hear what remained,
when my heart's rhythm went null,
the alien worlds we are kept from
by the paper thin resolve
of our ribs, of our holding in breath,
of our replacing breath.
and now i'm too far from the teeming.
all that remains as i leave you all behind, is the gentle blue luminescence
of what i know are dreams and heartbreaks,
though i cannot tell anymore what they are about, though i can no longer see the sunshine in them.
to me they are nothing
but an invitation to the breathless and dark deep.
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030310
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