A Lost Siren’s Call - aka Here I am Growing a Penis (2024)

 

I make whirlpools and watch her sparkle

Glittering

A sky of soft utterances

A Lost Sirens call.

 

‘Directions?’ they ask

Systems break here.  Another system erodes here.

It clumps kelp-like against the rocks.

 

Inflatables are tossed 

towards the all inclusive hotel pitched up

on the side of a volcano

The sea air rusts anything metal it can find here

From here to there and there to here.

 

This sea passing is waiting for us 

to remember the green architecture of a sofa or tree or field of grass

Or a stone licked.

 

 

- aghast

whispering into a conical shell, 

its slimy muscular entity

An interchange, an exchange,

a hiccup above the sea air 

Whilst invisible coins move from here to there and from there to here.

 

There is a whirlpool and there one is chortled out above the waves

Here one dances, sweats and fucks and tastes the taste of drool

A delicious interior wetness here

A total dissolution

 

A gurgle, a murmuring a thud against the wall of me - in semiotic fluidity

Here I am growing a penis,

 A hatchling

A mercreature, 

it floats as I float

amniotic armbands.

Yet to be ravaged by time and fraying belief

Here, there is trust - pure and true and flutelike..