Aquamarine afterglow -

grey teeth stretching the
bloated oxygen bubbles
from the jelly-faced

Though, there's too much
room for moving here; too much
space for my boney feet to fly
across in a hurried run; too
many words my mind tells
me to spill into the water,

watch the ripples,
until it cripples me.

Subterranean aftertaste -

hypnotized by the fragility
of the falsettos; the frank and
overtly oval thumbprints
prancing across my howling
bones, the shape of a toe
wading inward, arms pyramiding
overhead, legs flipping outward,


And there are hands, and mouths
underwater; a melody mangled
in sloshing and pounding; a sound
born from the desire to stay contained,
to fight itself internally to stay hidden,

stay underneath
all forms of solid afterward, and

fight the current of one more
stubbornly slick afterthought.

a/n: written for the March WCC.