He is the dark from which evil draws inspiration

Became the dark, did he at last
And ransomed hope for power
While clung the mate to his mast

The crew low and wayward asked
What to make of this ghostly hour
Became the dark, did he at last

The mate cried to crew, hold fast!
And the shaky men threw fit and cower’d
While clung the mate to his mast

The ocean roared like storms of past
And rose the water to mighty tower
Became the dark, did he at last

The blue did churn as far and vast
As his sunken eyes could scour
While clung the mate to his mast

Marvel did he, at his wayward cast
While the ocean spray did mist a shower
Consumed by dark, was he at last
While clung the mate to his mast

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Blue by Becca Yenser

I like the blue cold gelcaps,

Blue as an ocean,

If an ocean could be combed clean,

Fat as a beluga whale, no waist,

Nothin’, just a shape equally

Thick at both ends, no taper.

I like my pillow a certain way,

Feathers lifting the thoracic vertebra,

Tents and bears and campfires.

In my dreams I take a train through

Europe, I own a farm with Nick Cave,

My dog is alive again, mid-river.

This is not what I meant to say.

The president is shooting holes

Through my bedsheet. Why are

you laughing? In the morning

I’m a foot soldier in slippers;

Taking word arrows to the skull.

There is no end to the way the

World will end.

Oh my god, to be asleep

In a sea of crushed blue whatevers..

Outward, Inward

Contain,
Contain
You-see-through-glass
Bring the water to my lips again

The molecules are more focused in the glass
Than they are in the water
And the table has even more
And then there’s the floor

On the foundation rests the house
And that house sits on the ground
Which is as dense as the earth is wide
He pulls the molecules aside

Contain,
Contain
You-see-through-glass
Bring the water to my lips again

Loosely fitting pieces
Sit atop magma and rock
The ground sits on top of the shelf
And I sit on top of it all by myself

Oh, where does the earth rest?
And how does space sound?
Maybe the earth is a glass
To the beginning, alas!

Contain,
Contain
You-see-through-glass
Bring the water to my lips again

Contain,
Contain
“A glass can only spill
What it contains”

They came rushing over a hill

Language, and the ever expanding volume of words, is a collection of venn diagrams. From one thousand feet up it looks just like a storm cloud. At the smallest scale, it seems like cells in a state of mitosis; splitting and fragmenting – all from one original idea. One day, I hope I’ll get to meet the speaker from whose lips came the great, indelible origin of it all. Now I’m not a betting man, but I’m guessing the first word sounded something … like love.