A submarine plummeted, dented its hull,
Erupted its payload of bubbles to surface;
The mariners drowned in a bay lined with gulls.
A fisherman watched the acrylics that surged:
The sunset was doused while the ocean was heated
And margins of orange and purple emerged.
Commandos have nourished the crabs and the prawns
That nestled wherever the tissue was softest:
Ablating the borders, attritting the dawn;
Escaping the stillness that comes for all shells.
A tincture of clay that was drawn into motion,
Infused with the salts of the reef: it may dwell
At first on a farm, with the ragweed in corn,
And later at school, while saluting a portrait;
It finally ceases itself. It’s unborn
Again and it’s calling the roots to the mulch.
The stalks are obsequious, bowing completely,
While ribs flash a grin through the sediment’s gulch.
The hungriest know that the spirits exceed
The worst of incisions or impacts by bullets
And pray to be spared by the ghostly stampede.
The ancestors scream at night, rattle a plate,
Or startle the baby, or choke one on fishbones—
No malice intended, they’re watching from gates
Where the boundaries thin and the banished
Can comingle with vanishing; vanished.
KHAKJAAN WESSINGTON 1) Writes the Daily News Poem at http://toylit.blogspot.com, 2) Operates the deadliest literary fight club: http://combatwords.blogspot.com, 3) Was contributing writer for eXile.ru, 4) Had a poem published at thenervousbreakdown in August of this year, 5) Has just published the Toylit Q1/Q2 2010 print edition.