a poem that I will be working on

The waters that rush over your face

tumble over the edges of the earth

in an infinite cascade that defines the passage of time

rushing down the slopes of your breasts

your lush, fertile continental slopes that call me home

pooling in the deep well of your blue hole navel

on the soft, sand-blown plateau of your stomach

joining the swollen, meandering rivers of your hips

and the veritable floods that spill from your isthmus tongue

 

Your hair is medusa kelp that ensnares

the wayward sailor on his odyssey home

trapped in your tresses, the young find forgetfulness

the earth rests atop your minions on precarious perch

mermaids singing siren songs abound

holding in careless balance the weight of the brine

as they draw the traveller under their sway

 

Your planetary, divine body rotates to the order of the cosmos

but your details doom us to sublime chaos

spinning, sloshing oceans cleanse and sculpt the shores

relationships, always uncertain, are redefined

as your mate looks on, feigning aloofness

the oceans follow her whim, tides transit to and fro

taking on the weight of your punishments

absolving the crimes of your arrogant bouyancy

committed so long ago, beyond the ebb of forgetting

as they take into themselves and their progeny the sin of your pride

like high cliffs to hold back your inevitable demise

 

I long to drown in the abundance of your embrace

The cold, dark medium all alight with sparks

as I sink deeper into your absolution

below the atmosphere with its wispy hopes

below the cloud forest with its precipitous pitcher plants poised

below the creeks and streams and deltas of burdensome generousity

through the plumes of choking excess

diffusing into the purity of your solution

below the seaweeds and tunicates

below the sharks and rays of light

below the sponges and shrimp

the angler fish lighting their dance in the marine snow

below the vents and methane seeps

tentacles all aquiver, always reaching for the transient

blood orange and white bones of primordial life affirmed

to lie

at peace

in your black fields

and sleep.

 

This is kind of a tryptic poem, with different entities being addressed. Let’s see how it changes over time (which is one of the main points of any poem, I think)!

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~ by maoctopus on February 29, 2012.

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