Poetry
of Barnacles
the
end of the journey is strictly
the
first step out of an organized path
leading
us somewhere – let the new world
begin,
then, as I roll down my tongue
into
a damp sea-salted cleavage
biting
tenderly to grab the marrow
in
its tubiform hulk each pleat
unbelting
much of deposit like
untold
images - or so it seems -
it
strikes my attention the amount of
possible
disguised enigmas hiding behind
the
structure of this cirriped's
flesh
filtering an array of sensations
it
locks me
into my early youth
and
I see the curling has been bent
consistently
over and over
all
these years
transforming
the knob into a feeble
dormant
thing
-
unscathed stone -
the
same that used to bring me into
a
state of plenitude an odd and claysome
moment
occurring at times
by
which I came to be each and every
sand
grain resting in our universe
with
no other needs besides fulfilling
space
with presence – one only possible if
singular
and plural at once – in such times
I
was alone though in my solitude
there
was room for the whole – human
and
material kind
I
realize there is a timeless link
between
past and present – the barnacle's leg
has
a crispy outward layer slightly
wizened
as an old man
in
contrast its inside is soft and
juicy
flavors remain active
long
after swallow occurs
inviting
to further
explorations
– might
be
©
2015, José E.T.M.Coelho
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