Fish Fins

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I need the fins of a fish,
to dream blinder and think less.
To circle, minds thoughtless, and swim forever.
Fish are thirsty you say?
Where gills, silent in their quake, accept the blue washes of color.
They know their confines; clear and pristine.
Where they express their molds,
Wondering fins that never pause.

I want to slice simply, the crystal case.
Blue washes escaping, the glass who fears them.
I let them fall, as careless as me, to pool around my ankles.
Swirls, timeless and free.
Head rolling forwards, magnetic they are.
Pulls.

They grow heavy as I blanket them with my eyes.
They tremble now. Shifting their tiny echoes to suit their color.
Rays upon rays, we meet.
Fish are thirsty too.
Their brains discarding words as garbage
Rotting, in the palm of my hand.
Where my lines draw closer the essence of the fish,

Fighting fins, why do you do?
You are floating, as fish will float.
Towards my palms they steer themselves, where I hold them.
Gently resting on the land that is my palm.
Forgetting basics, to satisfy it’s cause
Leaving water.

My fingers fusing, adapting, transforming.
Shrinking smaller.
Becoming one, a light too, where rays can permeate my flesh
Just as scales accept light, thoughtlessly.
Bliss- we do
Thoughtless- Open

I am a fish in the eye of the universe.
Blinking we do.

My fins grow and swim.
Standing above tiny eyes
Orange suits, identical.
Frowning fish have lot’s to say.
Say something to the clown fish.





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