the fish and the marigold

 

 

 

I have never seen the Pacific;

sure don't mean it's not there, rushing

over rocks, grinding sharks smooth,

showering the poet with egoism and

mud wine.

Daddy called things you've never seen

betrayal, a new Mars for

it's red color. The current is

fast but the virga wisps appear

as streaks in the sky,

evaporate before reaching the

ground.(You have those thick,

soft lips, moistened by dew).

What subsumes us, places us in

something large.

 

I was able to breath again, as such,

a similar, similar person or thing

underwater and bright

as a Chlorox diamond. I think

lobsters are just giant roaches

in their sea of soil bacillus. I

inherit you, young voice, like

a jazz singer inherits "Misty"

not caring that Sarah Vaughn

did it with soul and the drawing

of bone. I can love again but

everything about you is a mytery,

the way the voles inhabit the

moist meadows yet make themselves

available for the owl, permissable

to die; to passively go

without even an angry letter.

I can tell this story without

staggering like ten-thousand

un born eggs. Do the names

on sunker battleships ever go

away like the thin liquid

of the ballast?

 

The dreams of the fish are simple; to break off

their need of the air, to slip softly in the

zirconium of cave or to fall, head first,

into planktonic love, draggling the

wet moon on it's silver airfoil, adorned

with shells. I can take in and consume

the sand, that time honored right,

to wake and wash with my

fringed antennae

like a horrible trout.

Reviews

[Tree]

An explosion of blue and gold imagery, where your words leave me foaming at the mouth, at the edge of that sea. And I am reminded of the time when I was 17 years old, rolling around in a brand new shiny truck, and I took my friends Rudy and Lamont down to the Seal Beach Pier; cold a*s December night (as far as cold can get in Southern California) and Rudy as he always did back then would light up a joint, while we all walked along that beach. And when we got halfway across the pier I leaned over the railing thinking
(not yet really that high) that I would spot a fish... And that's when it happened. My wallet (fat with 83 dollars because earlier that day I got paid at my Chucky Cheese after school gig) slid out of my jacket pocket, and into the cold blue sea. And when I said, "Damn, I had 83 dollars in my wallet," Rudy and Lamont's eyes got big (they had no after school gig) So I joked, "Whoever gets it gets 50 bucks."


Later, after the passing fisherman pulled Lamont out of the ocean, and he, still clutching my wallet, I would find myself giving him 70 bucks (I used the 13 left over feeding these fools at Jack and the Box)... And the thing that I'll remember most is how I could see every strata of that sea, when Lamont jumped into that ocean. I saw the first strata, where dogfish sharks fed on scraps from the fisherman all the way down to the last, rows upon rows of spiny lobster and blue crabs, sea-urchins and black clams spitting out tiny bubbles; and tires, a whole lot of tires... I guess what I'm trying to say is you should come see that sea

A wondrous and magically vivid piece dana, that got me reminiscing

[Emily B]

thankful for time honored rights

and waking

[Circe]

amazing poem.. the transitions are meticulous, fluid, original, the piece itself is one mesmerising journey... the deep ocean mysterious as deep space.. it's like watching a dreamlike documentary of the depths that keep going and expanding.. everything is shiny, unusual and imaginative... streams seamlessly... with too many memorable lines to mention.

[Shmoke-Sifted Heftlande..]

I feel like I need a nap after reading this..I've missed you, and myself lately