My sick heart and my sick soul

I'd gladly fasten in a bag

and drop into an ocean-hole

to float in darkness as a rag.

 

Would it learn to make its light?

Maybe in a million years.

A million years of constant night

in which it can't stop its fears

 

flaring their nightmare tentacles

and bioluminescent eyes

as cold and sharp as icicles

under moonless, starless skies:

 

medusae, spookfish, cephalopods,

jellies with no eyes or brains,

lethal and beautiful as gods,

locked in endless predation chains.

 

How seamless then the world would seem,

which life on earth never did,

the living water like a dream

crowded with prowling vampire squid

 

that want only to stay alive

among other monsters innocent

of all but the pure drive to survive

without self-judgment.