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I cough up red jellyfish
hacked from my chest 

& they splatter the floor
in Pollock globs.

Chiseling the smeared tile
I sell it off in bits and

dry heave as my blood
becomes art.

With the profits I browse
buy a large glass fishtank

to let my newfound red
friends survive.

They do not swim
do not float

but rather settle on the bottom
in a heap of swaying clumps.

Oh, playmates
why are you so dull?

Comments (2)

This comment was minimized by the moderator on the site

Ah... a succulent metaphor teased and extended into a perfectly blended unity with its parent thought.

Joshua Hennen
This comment was minimized by the moderator on the site

Gruesome. I love to see writing like this that just indulges in the words, using language in motion like a painter with a broad brush.

Tsnclr
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