and here on a tug-boat
I am a barnacle, what would I know
head-cemented after weeks drifting
through weedy swamp-waters
my altered hydra-forms
passing jelly fish tippling their barbs upward
in a prayer-like reflective pose
the pheromones of my brood
fixed me to this underside
There are parts of me that need replacing
In the wind I hear compression
lossy and indistinct
The lake is salt.
Locals say it rises and falls with the tides.
What does a lake mean to the psyche?
It is water.
Peaceful but not like a white-ceilinged room.
The peace of watching something in motion
ever-changing like a strobe light
now blue, now grey, now choppy, now smooth
now falling, now rising.
in essence, frogs are environmental
where frogs live we are told
the water is drinkable
Light the incense now and call the spirit.
Good will triumph in her light.
Kick those demons. Kick ‘em high
Buffy bless and sanctify.
law is what stands between
a good time for some
and grim truth for all
let me assure you I need protecting
without their good wishes
irony could get a grip
and that’s a law unto tomorrow
trust none of the eternities
darkness is coming
and we will go under
the screams of defiance
are merely for proof
this is the terrible hour of the hive
the massacre of the innocents
youthful queens lie in waxen prisons
royal virgins, waiting to kill
rivals still encased in silent cocoons