Terminal Ink
a poem
I dream of octopi
creeping through seaweed
kissing my skin with delicate suction
tendrils caressing my face
osculating my eyes
cephalopod lovers devour me
before disappearing into
fathom’s abyss
leaving an inky shadow
in place of their fear.
The sea’s Abramelin essence
thrown to the sky
a splash of violet consultations
on thick linen paper
it blooms purple flowers
paints pasta for tomorrow’s feast.
On land and awake now
just a few trees left
more burn than grow
we live inside the dense smoke
of dying forests
dying oceans
the gods have died too
a species orphaned
lost.
So
I search for you in octopus dreams
for one whose hair does not tangle
like matted seaweed
like the lines of a broken map
like the lines on my face
that lead nowhere
except to pockets of mirth
and mourning
waiting to terminate
this timeline
and dissolve into amethyst light.
