rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Reset Sixteen, Day Twelve

The smells that are not pine or grass or moldering leaves but laundry detergent or exhaust fumes or damp asphalt, and the sounds that are not breezes making the pine needles hum or the flutter of bat wings or the rustle of small creatures disturbing the undergrowth but only motor traffic and muffled broadcasts are not conducive to thought or calm. Even at its quietest this place leaves me on edge. I like the sounds of cities, but this is no city. There is no coming and going of living voices, but only machinery. No one inhabits this night unless they are up to no good, or, like me, up to nothing at all, and either way we are silent. The sky unmarked by stars is, but for the crescent moon, a void. How utterly lost all time seems here, how empty the past. As or the present, well... better if that's left unspoken.




Sunday Verse




Gift, 2


by J. Neil Garcia


Lost in the sea’s
unforgiving blue,
I seek you.
Before me
the day unscrolls
its naked scripture:
sun, vision’s burning field,
islands, faint presences
crumbling in the distance,
water, the fickle immensities
life is made
constant by.
And it strikes me
I love the sea
because it borders
this suffering world
and the next:
the soul, it is said,
travels in a boat
from a winding inland river,
homing clear-eyed
toward the ocean—
which is the bottomless
beyond.
And I know:
here, upon this beach,
wash the crushed remains
of what was once mortal:
bone and kelp,
driftwood and tentacle,
porous red coral—
keepsakes
life leaves behind
before
dissolving
back to brine.
I am home here, then,
whom the world
never loved,
and from its torn edges
I can almost see
it all end:
an onrushing tide,
a radiant sea-swell
sweeping away all appearance,
gentle eddies
whittling the self
till it is no longer
even sand.
I think of you
landlocked and lost
in another element—
your body.
The sea teaches me
love is a wish
not for safety
but for destruction.
I am not ashamed
to admit it:
I love you
the way water loves.
Which is to say
I wish the world
were through with you,
so you could return to me
ravaged, upon this shore:
a shell
held tight
inside my palm.

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