Watch, stranger. Keep vigil in the night. Witness as we fools conspire with our weather.
In twisting clouds of spirit-flesh
I imbibe without the swallow,
And hear his song in sunken breath,
Each fantasy to follow.
For body and air confess their cult
In temple halls to dwell--
Far, far gone away into the inner
Sanctum of the Vale.
Dwelling not in liminal
Prostration without sky,
But all-confounding, ever-mourning
Ecstasy to 'scry.
O’er waters black and boiling
I kiss the shrouding mist
And entreat her give me naught,
But teeth sunk into wrist.
For oddity is not so strange
To creatures such as we:
Philosophers and poets-errant,
Lost mystics of the Sea.
What stands between? I wager naught
But Nothing and nothing more.
That is the plight of glory bought
On strange abhorrent shore.
I lounge in waters dark and warm
And think I’m far away,
Yet I am just another phantom
Caught in electric decay.
I cannot see beyond this black,
Though I itch for shape or sound
To guarantee I’ll not dissolve,
Be left alone, nor found.