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?
