My hands are on your head,
Fingers swimming in your hair,
Like snakes in the grass,
They're feeling for the cracks,
From which to pull you apart,
To stare down into the past,
Use my legs and climb inside,
Fall down into the black.

I can picture your surprise,
When first that light shines,
But on what ocean floor,
Would these beams strike?
Maybe like Mariana’s trench,
There’s almost no bottom to find,
I welcome this cold blackness of mind.

Maybe a little creature there,
Staring back with equal surprise,
Two big black watery eyes,
Brows furled with surprise.
We’d lock unblinking eyes,
Waiting for the other to decide.

In Your Head

January 21, 2016