i took a picture of my insides

august. never ethereal.
all body all submerged psyche, all now.
fleshed together, diving inside each other's
darkness like night swimming.
the danger all around thrills us as much
as the heavy smooth water slipping
around us in embrace.
swallowing salt water,
moon eclipsed, the stars are hid.
there is no wrong no right in this place.
underworld or utopia.
they are not mutually exclusive.
here,
the definitions are blurred by water,
or tears.
the shore where our clothes lay strewn
is so far away,
a place half-remembered.
we may never go back there
ever again.

. . . .

it seems like everyone is losing their mind to a dark impulse, coughing up bile, coughing up weed tar, angry, mixing up love and hate and feeding it to each other out of sweating highball glasses at the late night places. strange, disturbing phone calls at 5am, voices disemboweled of meaning, wraiths of needing and chaos, dislocated into a receiver. stripped of identity. i wonder in these days how Persephone felt in august, body heavy, beginning to sink through the earth, ankles a little muddy. if she felt a spirit stirring in her ribcage, a shadow cast over herself. i wonder if somewhere inside she thrilled at the thought of going back under to the animal core, to the night-place.

"i'm afraid of who you are"

it feels like this;i'd forgotten how chilly and unnerving the song is itself with all that bronski beat stuff going on, wistful and urging and stripped down.