I can hear the sea
Three floors up in Paris
A dripping thunder
A black out lightning strike
Our shoe-box sized flat
Filling with water like a tank
Bloating my dreams
With floating fish
Eyes wide in ecstatic mortality
Rising
From their own bodies
Like reverted raindrops
Millions of ghosts ascending
Into the gravitiless hook
Of a night sky
Inhaling its own clouds
I did a collab with my main man Joe Cilxby for an Experimental Writing module, it’s all about spacey little fish spirits XD
Fish float
Underbellies exposed:
Pearl eyeballs.
Sicked-up scales
From abandoned
Scum-frosted fish-bowls.
Gills slit into throats.
Flushed down toilet bowls:
Dead shoals.
We tried to perceive it all as we had when we were children: the Sea Life centre. The excitement was the same, we gasped and pressed our noses against the glass. Giggled and pointed. There was a lack of innocence there. As I watched you, at the other side of the tank. The captive jellyfish crawling over your silhouette, shining with sinister intent. This is the stage in evolution where we developed nervous systems. I think about pain electric in their tendrils, shocking through you. Brilliant blue. We’ve watched too many documentaries to not understand the perfect design of each being as predatory. And it’s beautiful. Sickeningly fearful, and beautiful. How everything is hunted and digested and decayed and has its purpose, it’s place. Yet there is this thrill never lost, this tiny streaking will to live. It makes me want to kiss you. Your lips dark blue through the water, the whites of your eyes raised to follow the menacing shapes around you.
puttingthedogtosleep 