Desperately Seeking Vertebrates
human jellyfish adrift in a septic ocean
flood my inbox with toxic notes
regarding affirmation.
i reply in svengali,
my natural language
that my affirmations are my own
i rise to the occasion
i rise to the occasion
i rise to the occasion
and the oceans I seek are deep and blue.
true to the moon and the rhythms of my body.
being semantic sea creatures i thought they'd
understand, but by the time the translations
have been made their interest is lost.
it seems backbones are scarce
in the septic ocean
as i send out semaphor.
maybe my ideas are too archaic
but no matter how many roman
togas you dress it up in
all i want to do is fuck.
i consider a swim
then turn to the airtanks
and the security of rubberware
to live in the world of
bottom feeders and mood lighting.
shifting gears to
another state of mind
the two wolves inside me
all teeth and hackles
fighting over
“should i?”
collapse into the comfort of his arms,
or “shouldn't i?”
when i look into his eyes it's always midnight.
sitting at the table
in shades of hallelujah
take me to the river,
shake me like a pentacostal
forgive me the pain of my own humanity
and birth me a picture of
happily ever after.
prince valiant arrives anyway
wearing the safety colour
and the scent of elsewhere.
he has the darkest
eyes i can imagine,
asylum eyes,
lupine and vulnerable
at the same time,
and I cant help but want to
run with his pack.
i've been thinking about you and what you did last night.
i've been thinking about you and what you did last night.
i've been thinking about you and what you did last night.
having a soft spot for hard men
i fall for the same arsehole
again and again.
i carry a small bald guy
around in my pocket,
rub his head sometimes
in the hope of better fortune.
i've been thinking about you and what you did last night.
i've been thinking about you and what you did last night.
i've been thinking about you and what you did last night.
i'm on a full mood mood swing,
you know, the time of the month when
you make dogs behave badly
and the truth demons are
banging on your door,
baying for your blood.
but they're not smart enough
to break down my barriers
reinforced with rationalizations.
even so,
there are some songs i cant sing in my head
for fear that
i may never come out.
i read it in the papers, it scared the shit out of me.
i read it in the papers, it scared the shit out of me.
i read the news today, oh boy,
it really scared the shit out of me.
the storm before the calm
the thunder is coming so i hunker down to the approaching storm. thoughts trip quickly as the atmosphere thickens with the weight of nothingness and i fear i may have miscarried the lord there is so much blood and so little evidence. so you could be the best abortionist in town, but how do i tell you that your services are no longer required?
fear of exposure and unexplained metaphors. haunted by voices until last monday i nearly gave the whole game away. there is a hunger/not in my guts/but in my soul/and substance abuse/doesn't cut it anymore/and cutting it... so you could be the best psychiatrist in town but how do i tell you i want to be in the front seat when the accident happens?
so with wet expectations i unbelieve my body and focus on the moments when i am perfection in the company of others, slowly learning to seize more moments. and i will make my heart the moon, fill it with dreams of a better life and resolve to trace my pirate roots. so you could be the best meteorologist in town but how can i tell you that it's all just gypsy fortune telling?
About Kerryn Tredrea:
kerryn tredrea is based in adelaide, australia, writing pomes, running gigs, touring towns & making culture in her own sweet way since 1999. she is very proud to be co editor at paroxysm press, one of australia's foremost independent publishers.
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