Dream Series: Seafaring Woman

My hands masked my eyes,

eternal ocean percussion beat against my ears,

 bouquets of life about me, seasoned and wind blown

—first descending rain, saturating salt seasoned driftwood

—coriander bloom, blossoming from the roots of my palms,

—sleep whipped like cream, airy and sweetened to my flesh.

Bearded waves rolled their backs in creation, meeting their demise as a headfirst strength,

in pixilated dye of fusing evergreens and everblues,

that sank in the slow of thick—sugar crystal fine particles,

catching light and shadows in a carousel

that turned and vanished within the depths,

leaving the burn of starmint on the tip of my tongue

and circus tent hypnosis vacating the contents of my mind. 

Sounds of Heaven colliding with Hell stirred my thoughts,

to visions of screaming laughter terrifying glass walls,

quaking under the pressure of a front row view of bodies absorbed

in sound wave sirens escaping the fang-toothed skull with crater vacant eyes

—the rush of bodies consumed whole,

the sweeping of their hands and feet thrumming harmonies

along piscean puzzled bones of colossal size

—no one wise to the absent mass of meat and scales,

as they acted the devoured prey for the spectral beast’s appetite.

Onion skin ghost ships bobbed like paper cut chains against the soul lit horizon,

where candle wax dripped, layering phantom mountains,

 —warming and disfiguring in the heat of a gilded moonrise,

where upon the silken stones and splintered shells of a sun bleached shore,

laid my storm sung body,

—the vibrating tidal pull reanimating my drowned pulse.

E.A. O'Connell