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.