King Sailor from Sleepwalker by Hourloupe

In the vestibules of the crypts of New Orleans
The spirits mill about
Consulting the swirls of marble
Like the scrolls
Of petrified smartphones

The soot of King Sailor enters their nostrils

His bier of ultramarine
And gold-green mind’s eyes of peacock fronds
Was doused with gasoline
And spun out a back-orange clouds

Carrying news of springs

And then they can breathe
And the drum calls them back
To dance in human skin

The feeling of sinking the mass
Of abdomens
Between spread legs
The eon-creating position
Of squatting, then shelving in and pulling away

Once I held the cradle of a pelvis
Up to rain, says one

As his eyes flutter shut
Just as though this saying
Were enough to stir the rhythm of the name of his beloved
I recall the chilled lines of water
Hugging the insides of my arms

My thrilled skin

And flooded the traffic circles of my chest

And me a tiny sailor in a small boat drifting in and out
The prow of my dory poking
The black rooms of shadows cast from roots
Dangling from the banks of so many ovals

• Alternative
• Experimental
• Poetry
• avant garde
• experimental rock