The blood

is in the water

But how deep

does it stream

if the waves

scream to

take us further down?

the end is a ceaseless striving

of noisy shadows,

of pregnant mouths

and graveyards of

oceanic minds and

venerable ears

clogged in suspicious

fluidity…

is fate debatable?

or encased in

placentonic paranoia?

give back the scent

of our youth,

a fresh cornea,

the chlorophyll

of hope,

the unsounding voice

of a first born

save me from

the incessant tragic

hunger of the

undertaking wave

breathe…