He is a Fried Egg Jellyfish,
nonetheless he was ignorant
Always pushing things on me
He never considered feelings
Like the Phacellophora camtschatica
his sting is rather weak.
But that doesn't seem to explain
why it took me so long to see
that he was only after one thing.
-
She is a Pacific Sea Nettle
Glowing; always and forever.
I embrace her light even when
I'm feeling smothered.
She is amazing in many ways
But could become dangerous
in a matter of days.
Just like the Chrysaora fuscescens,
She is made of many colors.
Which is why I can't stop looking at her.
-
He is a Purple Striped Jelly
One of the most painful out of these
Oh sweet, Chrysaora colorata,
he truly stung me.
So beautiful inside and out
I should've looked but never touched
I just wanted to be his cancer crab,
but I never was one..
I was the ocean sunfish biting back.
-
He is a Golden Jellyfish
Beautifully mysterious as always
I want to dive straight into him
As I would the lake that the smack lives in.
Very similar to the lake
he is full of golden aspects
that I long to intake.
He hasn't stung me yet,
So why should I ponder mistakes?
He'll always be stuck inside of my head.

The blaze raged on
all through the night
Until the early morn

And when i awoke
from my coma
All my *** was gone

part your sea, and i swear you'll never overcome my surge.
my petulant swell of upheaval, upheld -
by the angels
of our darker thoughts, and the parody
of pure reason
where a
heart
stops.

a sudden gravity floats in a heavy seam
of dead air. it disentangles the pyramid
from the eye... severing a dot
from a matrix
but keeping the barn doors shut
should our animals
plot.

and our jailers
name it.

i have an ocean to promise you
Nothing is
sacred.

the long onions nod in the fickle breeze. they etch their slender shade
upon the dizzy grass and the low things crawling. they manage to say
nothing about you as you pass, delighted... but then, you never stroll through Paradise and see onions first thing.
You ponder the steps you take
to get there...
and the apple in your
pocket...

first of all.

never been. but i imagine, it coils counter-clockwise at the ankles
of your pedestal. it must surely breathe fire so soft
that dew lingers on the tongue of a star.
a star -
behind the green pearl of an emerald place,
dislodged from Time
and ever tethered
to no reason.

it must be other than. and farther from. and nowhere.

sublime.