In my mind, I'm speaking to the ocean's roar

Before the torrent comes.

And below the ocean, Jonah, under waves and breaking swell to a weakness on the deep floor, to depths, to heights, to incomprehensible movement and confusion and beauty in the dark-black bubbles that rush before your eyes.


i.
Now I'm in a room. It's a pistachio room. And above there are concentric rings of plaster and gilt and smoothness and beauty which begin to the right of me, and all around me, in fact, in front of me… but the ones to the right, they narrow as they travel my way, my eyes' way, upturned eyes, they’re no longer parallel, they muse and fold and fuse and drift and crash into each other and the lines are so close that they’re not lines anymore.

So close as to be... more than close.
So close.

ii.
And its the tension between two things. I can't deal this. And
I want not
to be able to
deal
with this.

So close.

iii.
Then the weather starts up again. And I wonder why it's threatening the downpour and to pour out and pour, and at night things are still and there's blossom under which to stand, and by morning the trees are raging at the window, shot leaves whose undersides are dirty to me, violated in the gusts which I can hear through the half-wall window and then even inside, and the muffling of sirens. To rain.

But I know, from within that place so close.