some midnight current sweeps me up,
but i think it also
sweeps up the sky
because as i hurtle down the river,
the moon comes with.
when i fight above the water,
the moon's craters,
thousands of unblinking eyes,
stare right into mine.
and when it drags me under,
pearlescent light fractures around me,
shipwrecked treasure
only the ship is somehow the entire sky.
and it's beautiful—
no, terrifying—
maybe both? or are beautiful things
always a mixture of fear and love?
maybe so;
the current is so fast.
the moon's in my eyes,
the moon's in the sky.
i try to swim, but my hand touches
something cold and dry and lonely-feeling,
something that feels like nothing
has ever touched it before,
not until now.
the moon.
and as i touch it,
palm flat against its abused surface,
i hear an impossible whisper:
it's not about swimming,
it's about letting go.
so i let go:
i float on my back,
let the current take me,
watch as the stars careen above me,
engaged in a drunken dance
or maybe just putting on a show for me,
a heavenly masquerade of light
and heat and fire and bodies,
dancing because they have let go, too,
because when the current takes you,
you must go with it.
YOU ARE READING
MANIC
Poetrywhat do you do when you feel this way? i do nothing, only allow myself to be consumed. a collection of poetry for those possessed by the demons of their dreams. © folsomprison. all rights reserved. published: 2/2/20. completed: 3/22/20.
