The Sea

the nameless many

You are nothing.

Who are you?

The unconfined.

Why are you?

Confinement.

That Which Is

In he came, dragging the winter's night behind him
and bent himself in three by the fire
like a puppet discarded. His voice was the creak
of a floor in the night -
"Many a doorstep and I bid them well, but
they fear strangers
and shadows
and that which lies beyond the door-

one day I saw a shape in the waves,
long and dark, an ink blot in the sea
swimming deep below, and I reached my hand
over the edge to trail in its foam, wondering
whether it had teeth to bite with. It passed along
before I could find out."
His face stretched tight, skin drawn over the drum of
those bones.

The Essence

On being

We are nothing, we are everything,
a thousand unselves in the shell,
every molecule of the sea
made manifest; that which cannot be
named

The True Name

the endless black, your bedroom at night,
the taste of salt and seaweed,
a shadow peering around the door,
slime-slicked hands cupping holiness,
the basement yawning open,
a thousand voices speaking as one,
harmonious discordance,
the essence at the core-
you do not have a name.

You do not need to know.

what are you at night when no one watches but the bedside fan? your body encased in fabric and stuffing, suffocating under the padding you thought you took off before bed, choking while you shovel stuffed animals into your maw like consuming enough softness will dull your edges-

you who strive so hard to be loved that you forget you are not a dog but a coyote, a thing of the brush and dirt and blood that pounds through your veins when brown-cowlicks-ugly-necktie from accounting misplaces your paperwork for the thousandth time and forgets to return your stapler, when you look out the window at the grass stretching on for miles with its eternal groundskeeper always mowing the lawn while all the little things of the world flee the blades razing their universe-

what are you? who would you be outside of the walls you've caged yourself in? the key is in your paws. you are dying. make your choice.

On not being

i have existed since before there were stars
and i will exist after the music fades to silence
because i am no one
and i am in everyone;
we are paradoxes entwined,
dust taught to feel,
a spark of something caught in black holes
moments before the light winks out
some things can only be said
in poetry

on unbeing

take these words; i release them.
take these walls, pick apart each brick
for some grander purpose than drawing lines
between things