Underwater
I want to write a poem that can be understood under water,
that can be listened to half submerged with just your eyes,
nostrils,
and mouth a part of air.
Your lover holds you
the poem is transmuted through the filter,
the long slow sound waves through liquid
no louder than your breath,
which at times is the loudest sound you hear.
Your skull's an echo chamber
as you realize even your breath carries a tune,
varies pitch and frequency.
I want to write a poem that would announce the coming of a tsunami,
a hurricane of thought as the words lack clarity,
a series of vowel sounds.
In the water,the consonants don't make sense:
a "K" sounds like an "A,"
a "T" is nothing more than an "E."
I want to write a poem that does this,
yet also says, "I love you,"or "This shit is fucked, jack,"
or "Let me tell you about somethin'" under water,
where fish can rise and say, "That is deep," and want to cry.
And may be they do cry,
you'd never know,
cause your bodies submerged in tears as well.
October 8, 2005
I want to write a poem that can be understood under water,
that can be listened to half submerged with just your eyes,
nostrils,
and mouth a part of air.
Your lover holds you
the poem is transmuted through the filter,
the long slow sound waves through liquid
no louder than your breath,
which at times is the loudest sound you hear.
Your skull's an echo chamber
as you realize even your breath carries a tune,
varies pitch and frequency.
I want to write a poem that would announce the coming of a tsunami,
a hurricane of thought as the words lack clarity,
a series of vowel sounds.
In the water,the consonants don't make sense:
a "K" sounds like an "A,"
a "T" is nothing more than an "E."
I want to write a poem that does this,
yet also says, "I love you,"or "This shit is fucked, jack,"
or "Let me tell you about somethin'" under water,
where fish can rise and say, "That is deep," and want to cry.
And may be they do cry,
you'd never know,
cause your bodies submerged in tears as well.
October 8, 2005
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