sometimes i’m
calm waters
sometimes
wild seas
but nearly always
with unpredictable currents
churning chaotic fathoms
–where unnamable creatures
dwell in bottomless depths
light’s left eternally untouched–
beneath whatever surface
you attempt to navigate
no way you are a puddle. but a big one with an oil rainbow smack in the middle. sometimes pigeons come by and peruse the scene and take a drink. that is why their necks also look like oil spots.
Ironically Alexistentialism, I have a poem of several years in age --about five if you must know-- which references those very rainbows in oilslicks [puddles]
You know, sometimes I am a puddle, come to think of it, while an ancient peat bog at others complete with the tar-stained decapited head buried there for centuries – an artifact left from a pre-Christian polytheistic people.
–lhw