Killer Whale Coral
Negative space creates
the stick figure,
feeling, overly-visible, this
page’s symbols existence
for you, yet the intense
brilliance remains macroscopic in view
—hell bent, intent
is the vigorous rub of the stick, the arsonist’s hands caught ashed, ashes
pressed in the valley of reefs
in its palm with immense
pressure from the crushing
sea of luster, pressure to fade
in, cut
Copy, paste over the bitten dust
of color.
Static for economy, the reef reflects
the sea from its Self, hateful heat beaming
against the black mirror, bouncing back as intoxicating
radiation hating in waves of shame baking
Coral’s facing
felled
flake
by flake
by nervous melt
down to a bare naked strip
—a shedding of blood,
biomass of symbiotic sum summoned to hell, irate
as lava leveling a welded tree-
line,
reeled in, revolved back on the spool
into
vital
shade
from the ray.
Conniving shame claims to heave heat
off the hue, imbues Coral with cleaved feelings to love,
fear,
shear (s)kin
right
from
the spool
as if they were
too wayward hair strands of DNA waste
swept
to the wayside, the southsides
of West City
Coral now lays alone like a killer whale caked,
beached
in beautifully bleached,
blazing hot sand, as waves
wash
away
the cake
cut
by Friday-night,
weekend-tequila tears,
the body retrograding to death,
to its deep,
dark home
in the history
of unshakable shade.
Marc remains bioless, he says, and can be found nowhere but inside his own imagination.
