There is someone perched on the beams above you,
Left leg swinging,
Doggy paddling through dust.
She’s placing stones like fresh eggs in the rafter corners
Hoping to impress you, or upon you,
Some unique meaning,
Or something wild seeming.
There’s map in that seagull’s stomach.
Between bone and sand pushed in by the waves
Some soft spots are still visible.
When I speak the meaning I spit grit.
Grit grin, is a mouth worth speaking? [I’m asking your opinion]
They say to suck on stones when you are thirsty.
Gargle them and overcome a lisp.
Rub to calm.
But there is nothing worth my hand pushing through water.
Not eye to eye, not elbow resting in elbow, (you be lightening, I’ll be charged air) not that even. Not nothing.
I chanced center in that labyrinthine intestine,
But a bee, the minotaur, kept me at bay.
(These are black hole words,
Signified lost at sea
While signifiers clutter the shore. [Sure, a little over wrought, but the sentiment was there] )
You know what else I didn’t get to tell you?
If you watch things move away from you for long enough,
When you stop,
Everything comes at you all at once.
Want some closing advice?
[Damn this stream of thought, with its undertow]
Anyway, Stop seeing
(even in your mind’s eye!),
just for a moment, [trust me]
And the motion sickness will subside.
Meaning merely begets meaning,
And your dreams are just as good or bad
As an ant in South Africa
Carrying a strip of meat home,
Following the smell signals like harbor lights,
Into the hill.
(What else can I say that’s
Worth risking a face to face
With the limitation of language?)