I
Gymnastics of the brain
Bending around depressive lump
Avatars and faces disfigured, mixed up.
Animus N (form of Ash) dances in the ocean. Completely out of character and yet inevitable, as all things are in this place. A serious tone with a playful finish, as though folly would be the only [forceful] eternal survivor.
The blood that runs through us both is the same; mirrored.
I think of mercury and then Mercury and then Mercury.
And then I remember the sea, just as the sea remembers me.
The sound of emergency
Creates a crack [to fill with gold].
II
Fashion the place.
Tempo was always a sticking point. Just can’t get used to it only flowing one way.
Notes on a phone don’t matter.
But what does it mean?
Matter and meaning
Drown in smart technology
Run into the mouths of beasts.
A young psychiatrist
Wants to get inside your head.
Like he knows how.
Like anyone knows how.
Only poetry can really breach.
Chew it up, spit it out [slowly].
Drag, trails, markers.
Musical motifs woven through time.
I’m so glad I found this.
III
Pacing.
It’s choppy at sea.
Animus N weaves his magic.
Reconnects to fire.
We are music and blood
[and ash]
Roman numerals.
All the I’s.
Sure, they’re connected
Beneath the surface
Or, in the mirror, on the surface.
Little splinters
Hurt your palms
But the salty sting
Keeps our tread.
C.R. Dudley 