The WareHouse Of Words
the root within the corpse...
invasive root... destitute dark-roots within
they bid me take my place amongst them
as ocean waves crash and hurrying on...
to all the far-off shores
and I see among the bones, discarded cargo
as if in some long deep sleep
down in the taverns of Vallhalla
Angels, Valkyries, Disco-demons
sick of this being... damaged goods
heart beats over her being... the being
I see frigid salt water on shivering misery
the womb, her warm moist womb, cave-tomb invites
alone, you, I see the monotonous buoyance
I see being in drops of sinking flotsam
shivering... shivering in the currents of wreckage
in the early morning rainbow... hurry, quick hurry
then it's gone
overboard monotony and the failing hope
being within gelatin flotillas, jetsam tombs invite
as full as the luminous moon...on the ebb tide
shivering in the dank moldy halls of Montezuma
waterfall graveyards, melting into droplets,
thick mists, where cold current meets the warm
going down to the warehouse of sea anemones
the monotonous warehouse of sun bleached shells
odds, ends, the monotony of my seeing
I see pregnant mermaids...hurrying,
inviting as in sleeping dreams
monotonous falling...no more buoyance
alone, over every day... then the termination
forgotten over this falling...this hurrying
the root inside the corpse, the black-earth root.
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