Drowning in the loud, torpid water,
of purple and green. You’re staying too
still, you’re forgetting, you’re
expecting the worst. But why would you
want that? Ice, scorching and fevered
covers your stomach, and the undersides
of both your feet. Trying to extinguish
the burning, the pictures captured
inside your head; they flicker,
never pausing. There is only brightening.
Enrapture and charm: what you
are clawing at, with everything you have,
until it’s too late.
February 12, 2010
