I'm mesmerized by fireworks and thunderclouds, lying on a sinking island in a swamp of navy and sepia, alert as you sleep, crushed, failing, falling as you rise. Overcome, as always, by hesitation, there's something hooked behind my solar plexus that won't let me go.
Caught unanchored in the center of a counter-current cyclone, I'm adrift. Catch me, my cavity; collapse.
Pure lymph, pure ache, purely hollow.