Caught in a tank
with the chimes bristling above.
Slime hanging in the tension
that breaks bones.

Fair maid with a
stiletto pick.
Stop pressing, my dear.

In fear of looking up
anticipating two lungs capsized.
A plummeting vessel praying
through the facetious clouds.

Dawn takes over
and we refuse to stop.
Locked in embrace:
A false foot embedded
in the substrate.

Kelp explosions
holding us lightly,
grazing as we float
toward the surface.

Skeletons tangled in a mess
like that summer when you looked your best.

Take the last breath,
plunging the depths
to find at the bottom
a two-metre
tube worm.

Squirming as my lungs burst.
Post-partem.
Pre-historic.
Fleeting in the tunnel light
thats eaten up by its
benthic brother.

Sadie’s leaving, feet dragging on the old red carpet.
My last apartment was shared with a stranger
in apartheid, separated by the
very same carpet.

Then she just decides what’s best is best,
that summer dress blowing linen waves.
What’s lost in jest is often for the best.

Lists are old and now I’m left to remember yesterday
while planning divisive gestures for a drunken
muse tomorrow.

She asked me if I’ve seen it all.
Befriending mask before the fall.
I see them as they all abandon.
Granules of sand in gravity land.

I am filled with cancer.
An endless senseless sensorium
rather than anything tangible.

Take it all through glass liquid flashes
of an extant place
that lives inside.

Why?

and I come back
and everything's sick
and all that matters
is crumbling slowly
so so slowly
that I no longer know that
it is

But hey, on a bright note,
I wrote today.