(under the water i see clouds. they look like smoke. shimmering and calling me. under the water i see temples. glittering with the promise of knowledge. under the water i see the supple naked blue bodies of the lost. they beckon me with desire.
they sing the siren song of cheap souvenir shops by the sea. buy me and you will have memory forever. nothing will be lost, but the price. the tides caress my feet. come and play it says. my mind drifts across the cluttered dining room table. so many riptides are inside my sea of sorrow. my ocean of no tomorrows.
the salty brine of tears cakes on my bare feet, the beige carpet is damp beneath my feet. and yet the siren song is so sweet. drifting in and out of the smoke and static. i hold my breath and sit very still. i listen very carefully for something. anything.
but its the same old silence of traffic and shaking walls and breaking glass and screams. nothing has changed. it has only rearranged. underground is underground, even on the second floor. the sirens sing, but i hear them for what they are. ambulances. i will not sing along. this is not my song. this is not where i belong. underwater.)