Jellyfish


I. Bus stop

That's it! I'm fucking off as from now.
just being next to you causes me grief.
You are vile. I mean, do you wash?
I'll walk. You bus.

My conversations
will fleet by. Whisps of thought like aroma.
 (Wait. I recognise that one,
 brushing over the brain like Brasso,
 a hard, cold mettalic edge of an idea.)

I want to move on.

But stop. And bathe in particles so peculiar
that I can neither move, nor speak until the
entire horrible dicourse confirms
my soul's worst suspicions.

Oh... !


II. Post Quanta

...so science sums me to a fish. Jelly,
not fit to compare with reality,
in any solid sense of the word. Me!

I am an absurd 'vibe' maan, energetic
air, nothing more. Kinda pure beyond quanta,
yet a soup so foul, you'd perish
to even stick your finger in;

Just the look of it. Can a bubble see?
Apparently, and never busts,
with even a smidge of molten jewelry,
deposited sparingly in vast pockets,

Like you might sow poppy seed.

One neat notepad, with an even-tempo'd
equation, has the utter cheek
to see-through itself, and in time,
may develop other, more distinct bodily parts.
Apparently.


III. Apparently

Do you remember The Abyss,
or was it Terminator, one of them,

when they first used that that
special effect: where you're
invisible, but visible, sort of?

It was definately one of them.


IV. One of them

And this, on conclusion,
is where we stop, stick, get stuck,
whatever.


Cor, 2000