Ian Schoultz
SLEEP REPLY ALL
hypoxia drum of the ocean
—that i am buried in—
the word—inverse pressure
osmosis stuffing
the material
someone
over a number
over years
water has been
opened—
circle uncircle borders in
skin—
i can’t hold still
everything i see
is on tv
creatures turned to
figments
feed and feed the medium—
where is now
in whale fall
in habitable zone
over years burrowed
cut and stratified
my hands held each other—
i close my eyes—i close my body
under heavy sheets
under eggshell ceiling
skybox—i follow a dream
unborn water
to whatever
grief
i talk—i think—
i trick myself into belief
we are all human beings
we are all topiary puppetry
and honeycombed ribs
mined out panoptic
serotonin cavalcade
mined and body and—
recycled iridescent moods
if—then
growth out of
kingdom phylum genus species
even the rocks
were dead little fishes