Creatio ex nihilo
Asendentem de mari
The brain rose large and yellow
Above the darkened heart
Casting it’s sallow penumbrous shadow
Onto the stygian blue main,
Shattering into scintillations of consciousness,
Saltatory impulses of ionic ingenuity,
Undulating lumens of logic and
Shimmering shards of sharpened sapience that
Illuminated the gloom.
That living death
Before we wake in dreams,
Lulled to unconsciousness by hypnagogic hallucinations
Ingressing and egressing
Waxing and waning
Animated anfractuous agitations;
The purple serpiginous aurora of the night;
Each pebbled thought now wet with lunacy,
Evoking essences of smooth darkness
Worn slick by the grinding garrulous grit of time,
Awaiting baptism by that salutary surge of photons
Pouring down from the exultant azure to drown pure
In the dazzling celestial light of unadulterated omnipotence:
The power and the glory.
Here now the mermaid rises from the sea
Her bioluminescent locks drawn back
By zealous zephyrs hands
Set soon to claw the waves into maniacal froths
White tipped with cresting rage.
She is unafraid;
Her sweet melodical voice
Calling to me from the shallow deep
Quite knowing that I cannot swim—
Nor can she tread the blank littoral band
That I call home;
Yet still she sings
Abyssal angelic chorales
Her sinusoidal silhouette
Swaying and seducing
Drawing me into shadowed subterranean caverns
With her impossible beauty,
Diamonds dripping from her golden hair,
Eyes of Neptune blue…
Ruber labia tua
Her tail a soft reptilian green,
Wet with lust.
Forgive me father for I have sinned.
Where shall I sojourn tomorrow?
After the antebellum, the terebellum and the cerebellum
Have sunken into the comatose depths
And dreams are now but flotsam on the sea,
The last of human breath ensconced in tiny bubbles
Mixing with the merriment of mermaid’s songs,
Reminding me of where I long to be
Or might have been…
If only I could swim.
Yet think I must or I shall surely drown
And wash up on a lonely shore to be awakened
By baisers of blue and silver lapping at my mind.
Informing my locus coeruleus
Of my resurrection…
The sylphids sing hosanna.
What is this world?
How different from the one before;
The cerebral galleon now sunken in the brine
Where ‘midst it’s gyri naiads swim
And sing sweet siren songs
That lure lame hearties to the dark dank locker
Immuring them in sinuous sulci of sunken scopuli,
While on the beach we hear their muted screams
In abandoned sea shells,
Those spiral sarcophagi,
Lost and languishing
Limbically laughing and lamenting
Among the synaptic seaweed swaddled corpses of dead squid
And fish skeletons
Half buried in the sand.
The ocean has no memory;
As it was so shall it always be,
Osculating some petulant hind brain shore,
Some raunchy romping rhombencephalon
With promises of immortality,
Yet in its depths that sunken schooner sits
A butting and ajoining
The substantia nigra
Crenulated and grey,
Battered and blanched,
Barnacled by time,
Perseverating, on and off
Spilling its’ axiomatic treasures
Its limpid learned lore
Upon the ocean floor.
Catatonic or convulsing;
Crustaceans could not care,
Orange crooked legs
Scatter silver silt on gold gilt doubloons of doubt
While effervescent hope still floats above
Like water lanterns
Importuning deities gazing down
Upon the watery main, blanketing desire
With tears of condescending rain.
Astrocytic aspirations rise up to deal with dark matters;
How the meek have risen through pure piety
And arid arrogance to thirstily embrace
The purview of the gods.
Again the rain patters.
Yet on the shore a cracked cranium rests askew
It’s ghoulish vacant sockets
Starring out to sea…
Gutted of glistening glia
Emptied of numb neuronal nihilism,
It’s foramen magnum spilling forth
Nothing but vile vagrant vermin and
The unforgiving sands of time.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.