#tenacles

The Poet:

        Fugitive lung, prodigal intestine—           where’s the pink crimp in my side           where they took you out?

The Octopus:

        It must be a dull world, indeed,           where everything appears           to be a version or extrapolation           of you.  

        The birds are you.           The springtime is you.           Snails, hurricanes, saddles, elevators—           everything becomes           you.  

        I, with a shift           of my skin, divest my self           to become the rock           that shadows it.  

        Think of when           your reading eyes momentarily drift,           and in that instant  

        you see the maddening swarm of alien ciphers submerged within the text           gone before you can focus.           That’s me.  

        Or your dozing revelation           on the subway that you are           slowly being           digested. Me again.  

        I am the fever dream           in which you see your loved ones           as executioners. I am also their axe.  

        Friend, while you’re exhausting           the end of a day           with your sad approximations,  

        I’m a mile deep           in the earth, vamping           my most flawless impression           of the abyss           to the wild applause of eels.

----

Ad Hominem

Nicky Beer

----

Title: “14 Swedish Models in VOGUE” by Paax

A digital collage made with LOVE and with help from YOUR mom. Yes, your MOM.

Release the Kraken!

----

Zeus

----