‘A drowned man in a dream descends.’ – Arthur Rimbaud.

Black was the belly of the bastard beast
as he tumbled down screaming arse over tit
three tides later he woke with a start
his head pressed against the black beast’s heart.

He swam down the veins, feasted on fish,
peered at the stars through the blowhole roof
in the vast bellows breath he listened and swore
a church choir sang from a distant shore.

The beast did moan, the beast did lurch,
it dived and swooped and sailed along
he wandered its chambers ‘til he was lost
all covered in gold, all covered in frost.

A hammock of seaweed between the bones
and he slept there in the calm of the swell
and he dreamt of giving Yahweh praise
and swore to God he’d change his ways.

A rumble of thunder, the pounding of flak
planes burning like angels high overhead
and when they found his body washed up on the beach
they left his soul floating down into the deep.

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