slow plunge (n.)(v.)

Water often drifts in and out of my work,
          its image recurring like a message from the subconscious.

I am made of the very thing. It gnaws at me.
                  When I finally forget about it, it’s no use, I get thirsty!
                       When the water, the ocean is too far away, I am compelled to
                              make a concrete container and fill it up with the stuff.

I can’t help it.

     I really can’t get away from it, as much as I try. It carries me.
                It soothes and feeds me and sometimes even threatens me.
                   When I want to drift off into a dream I drift into its mesmerizing,
                       always changing reflections, and dance with the sun.

    When I’m bored, I try to pick it up. It alludes me.
    It drips right through me as though to challenge whether I truly exist.

When I’m angry I shout at it and its molecules start to change.
It becomes my anger. It becomes my poison. Anger is d-anger.

                  I met the shark from Jaws in my container.

There is a whole world in there if I want it … if I squint hard enough, if I can make
myself small enough, if I can make my molecules mix with the molecules of the
water then maybe I can be as fluid as the shark in my container.
Maybe I can be anything and everything! I can be a tree that grows out
and beyond the surface of the water, bigger and taller than the water,
and then I can obliterate it completely, only to hope for rain, just
to fill my concrete container again, so I can be something else.

In my back yard.

I built a concrete container.
                      I filled it with my subconscious, so I could swim
                                as deep as my imagination.