He imagined Lake Superior in his collins glass and his other thoughts cowered. The mind shivered. The lake had long ago innervated his chest and spoke to him in harmonics at a distance. It would stir the strings suspended between them and call him home. He was born of a cauldron on the beach, where polished black stone entered the great furnace and produced men enamored with and endentured to the waves. Imagine the air is your captor. You are suspended in it and at the mercy of its decision to enter your chest. So the lake cradles its sons.
this piece makes me feel crazy. like i have water in my lungs. or i'm underwater and my hair has wrapped itself around my neck, arms and lips and i can't talk, breathe or move ... and i have to surrender to letting the waves carry me around as they wish. or like i'm laying on a hillside and the stars are showering down all around me ... and i'm drinking them. or like i'm strapped to a board and being lowered into the deep blue of the sea, body part by body part. or like i'm falling in love. drowning is kind of like falling in love, isn't it? this enchants me. and activates something very powerful/complex/only partially articulable within me.ReplyDelete
thank you for writing, erik