That clarifies the very vertical,
Almost ethereal nature of
(Accessed only by ladders and various other aircraft’s)
And the spatial integrity of longitude,
The horizontal cousin.
With a history of excessive longing.
These directions have similar qualities,
Consisting of some the very same calcium,
And sharing minuscule proponents of gravity,
That also define the same,
Stalactites & stalagmites
(Along with the number of bats, who usually prefer balcony seating)
Once the tidal waters stop rushing,
And the tiny boat,
Can cast it’s tiny line,
And wait for a calculated struggle,
With the tremendous sea monsters
That speak volumes to whales,
That speak volumes amidst volumes,
Those same sea monsters,
Waiting for those same lines,
Those colorful lures,
Cast from the crows nest,
…In more danger now than they will ever know
Performing a watery dance,
Performing a diluted ballet.
For an obviously underwhelmed audience of invertebrates.
Ballerina spinning in shaken snow-globe,
Choking on salt instead of snow.
Trapped inside that same shaken snow-globe,
Envying the miraculous pearls
That are also trapped, but for good reason.
To evade the jewel thieves.
The decorative lures sink deeper,
Just to go the opposite direction as the bubbles do.
To breathe with the currents.
To be with the currents.
To sword-fight with the stingrays,
Untie the shoestring seaweed that floats
In very deliberate knots.
With only one direction in mind.
With only one letter of the alphabet in mind.
With the Phoenicians in mind.
Like lost trash-bags.
Like floating jellyfish.