searching for lover; using deep in the sea as a hidden metaphor |
Rounding in around and in that while My lithe-whorled-self departs normal Hope descending down into estranged And spectral darkling spaces—to etched Depths of where withal—to face a sphere Of fear hardly ephemeral and caught so By moody spirits I’m spun sick—all of Which are dark. am I combing the lantern Lit-vizard souls? —whose ought is rot To aught as Rolle’s Theorem is to rot Because the rung bell’s toll is naught There or else—as this man, weighed Downward to hear sea innards—his lungs, What fenced in the air soon released from Its partiality, rather, his fancy. time awaits This least regurgitated discourse—it can’t Help but wait—the last of his chest’s partisan Compression to leave out—bubbled out, Blew of out his mouth; its exhaled muffled Breaths stirred up such distal-distancy of An epicurean feast, so ethereal that dog howl Utterances—those which ululate eternally As fear—willed no entity response: nothing Tolled in everything that was going down! When sea depths call—fear hangs as nothing Loitering long at all to answer and its chariot Will swing to due course and fro of duped self, Embosomed by articulated unison—syncopated Lights toll in darkling skies distancing as if all Above sea was a more distilled affair. singly, By lain-in-wait design, untamed as this man’s Habitual melancholy was I perceive through The lonely soul of this man’s gloomy eye, shee. My spiritual ally stirred me via this man’s sea Wicked epitome. a price is paid to sojourn down— To be mated to another soul—to swim with her In unison to unused depth’s of this Unholy Forever Night, its consequence slays flesh And ensiles courage—issue and spirit—thrice. So, off the isle of Galveston or some delusive Sandy-shore, therefor, where once he was Sitting lLowly and alone, akimbo legs sway A palpable thought. atop that long elusive Quay there is the only sight I fear, seeing This man growing small in the sea, never Reaching the evanescent azure before sinking Into the sea of night so as not to be alone. I know I can’t help the comrade of my-fallen- Fool-self but to twitch and watch myself Swim after that unsuspected spectacle making Me deft of depths in genuine whorl—below The well-worn sea of nymph and siren world— And sought is shee—yet unseen. why o’ why Did this lonely soul of gloomy man—the solitary Comrade, me, whirl so far-out just to dip below The siren’s pallid blue coral at sea—on the noon When the sea is cool and smooth—when lyrics Were synonymous with the siren song of promise To Odysseus, but song was for me, calling me Out and down through cerulean depths, sewn Well was I into its darkling cobalt light, tilling Those legs—mine I was, with more than might. With akimbo legs and arms had I humbly employed What remains as only support of one heart’s Search for that black pearl daughter; shee will Yet to be my reward of majesty—my reward Of magnificence my reward of glorious grandeur, All in my opine that can be endured, and yet There will be mystery for the saddest grief, sorrow And the worst melancholic misery: glory be! Whether April and May is spent in the sea All that I will ever see from here forward Is dark waters, always, surrounding me—it Makes me think about, up there, dear old African—our Father Land—where sward Millet are seeded—in ever will I see its Season, to astound any as neither will its Sight’s ills weigh, overwhelm, and engulf Inescapably, this realm I’m in—if I could Flee—swim with bowhead tail—take flight Anywhere less apposed to west-south-west I would. if hope could help I would pray, If being wistful would help I would desire— If chance could rally a lent hand, I struggle To whisper and to yearn, the cry of: please, Please, please! please wash my past into Coming ill-fears, Calypso “Mother-Goddess Of the sea,” mother of Black Pearl—the one I seek, sea wind—thrill wind, wind and curl Me o’er Mother’s highest wakes and down, Way down and away. sea magic shape a wake Mapping my lost route, wind me a wind to Mark my means-length along, or send me A maelstrom to mark my stairs as I dig Downward to her lair. snap—as a pig boar Whoring—me back, if you must. but know I’ll wade awaiting my next chance, or rest In that which dragooned me out from the shallow And onto sandy-sinew, which shall have swilled Keenly my-deplete-self, doomed to center my Quintessential tendon-tenancy. I pray that after— If any wish can reach beyond this beyond, by Opposing the sum of Mother-Calypso’s “Wind-torn” suddenness let my will be swept Down—and I will go without a peep; preying On expectation—no, praying beyond, beyond Hope—rather, hoping beyond wanton desire That her swelling maelstrom proffered to well Me, take lowly me, clammy and lovingly sweet Into the queerness of this indigo night. lease me O’ Svengall, there or leave me there—as svarabhakti Would a new word—take me so far so that I can see Me churning lithelessly too slightly with a least felt Susurrus svelte way, through some hardly-weighted Symmetry welded to some buxom crevasse’s Direction; take my breath away (so that my thoughts Become swears); take my air away (so that I can’t Breathe); take my sense (so that I can’t think). O’ eagle riding an expansive edge of the azure— Hardly taken aback is this flight floating as if you Have no care and heed not a thought to nest in Some bottomless pit—I implore you “take Me Down.” I’ll go down anyway without you, without Regard even for Mother Calypso who gave spawn To deep—and from those depths, waterborne— Who gave purpose to me, that of just finding Shee—where out of and from what shee came— Flowers forth my Black Pearl, who’s never Apart from my eye, the unseen—yet for her, This birth stings. its twilight is for me. for, By wide-while and by wild-girth, one that Cannot be crossed will not be until it is time; And I have waited all my life, in that place Before her time and now I am here, slain, at a insane less saintly time same as shee. This is there, as there is where I want to be, For with her hallowed self doth sprinkle A little bit of her bitter spirit, the flower’s Of her wormwood wealth that naturally Overcomes this man’s gloominess—mine. That is why I could not help but always In all ways vigil shee, even with these, Perhaps all that is left of my last in waning- Breath self—more than such, in her adept Blue moon which none will ever see, whereas Failing as my flailing about what could be My last hope—I’d rather be grasping up To climb a gelded black rose stem—for shee, With her rage—which condescends any kind Of pacification—I mean whichever calms her Not; as well, this sea not—as if spewed from Or bitch-slapped by a ghost, of some profound Depth in the sea, of whalebone tail. And after That while—and I hoped it a dream—me lain On my back, push up by a storied wave set Into darkled sandy seashore drying or dying. Let me say, it would not have matter had she Torn each, and every, one of my limbs and left Only a part as remains. Whether scarred or Worn thin, that scare—what would instill Stiff-fear in any other man, hardly takes me More away from my probing heart, which Constantly—is continually—and will forever More—be searching for her umbra shadows— In the darkling dimness—that depth feared— O’ to touch her indigo and rose-less lemur, My mollusk, my pearl, whether deep…, Or whether I need go deeper underneath The crust Of the sea. the dream of being Washed ashore hardly encompasses an end For me yet I continue to endeavor the stream Of pain; which is a deadly harp singsong Sung about epitome welled deep in depths Of my heart’s aloneness; for I am that lowly Unkempt soul without her, such woes in lows Darkens a poor man—me. my wish fulfilled Is to search and know only that shee, exists— O’ to seek her. o’ to find her, be that godsend Left aloft by her, so much better is it than bliss. Far from me the sea whorled her, cold seawaters To comfort—alone and left far behind am I— A wayfaring-soul too, am I. the wakes that quake Perplexed disharmony can hardly go with wakes That washed me up to darken the sand. yet I Went again—fifth or sixth time whichever— I cannot remember, I can’t help myself to even Care when or where, so I let me be to find That gem even if aught espied, for it is too deep In the oyster’s heart, maybe its damned so deep That the sea-dampen dank dips nothing darkling In this unfounded nadir of despair. and in part Of that surly sea goes surely yet that happy soul Of me. I swim down until into the start of a new Dawn, whether I bloat or float all over the sea let Me not part from dream to escape or float from Darkness. within the dream of my mind—shut Down, darkled, dimmed—now and always, let Priceless Beauty be—whether yet soullessness Is untwined—whether last breath of mine is forever Astray—let soul of this man’s dark hope vanish in me. |