September 24th, 2008

ozarque figure

Poem; "Dry"...

Dry

On the day the seas turned solid, there was fog
as thick as berry jam. When you breathed it in,
it choked you. It had tiny clutching fingers.

It ran thick with invisible fishes down your throat.
It ran thin with sticky strands down through your lungs.
You could only hope that your lungs were its last stop.

No wave gave warning. There it was, spray as always,
and then it was clotted cream, and then it was bread,
studded with tangled whales and squid and lobsters,

all gone as dead as raisins and candied cherries.
All the multitude of ocean creatures, all caught tight,
a multitude so numerous there was no way to mourn it all.

There was no way life could go on, either; that was clear.
Not with solid seas. It was the very explicit end of time.
It was a different end than we'd expected, but it would serve.

And so we linked our hands and walked out side by side
on the spongy top
of the desert world.