A six-legged octopus was discovered in a lobster box. I wrote a poem about it.
--db.
Hexapus
She said I was lovely
and they took black and white photos
as if I were microscopic.
They watched my limbs curl
as I clung to you as if you were glass.
But there were some things
I was missing.
When they found me
my glossy pink body was squirming in the lobster box
grasping for your shifting surface.
I am not at home here.
I am a scientific marvel; a transparent cloud of mania.
The scientests gather, shoving each other
harpooning me with compliments.
Still, I'm sure there's something
I am missing.
Blue blood and black ink
shifts through my veins.
Four hearts still intact after my fifth dissolved
leaving only a chalk outline
where my body used to lie.
You let me know, despite my luminescence
that there is something I am missing.
Make me a bicycle with six golden pedals
and I will make trails across the floor of the sea.
No comments:
Post a Comment