the weird signal

a fluid popping sound in
the cluster of round globes
spun like silk, zealous but
unimpressed
while a delicate signal flashes
like a dying insect into itself. We should know better, thrusting
our endless ideas into the illusory corner, banging our heads together. We should find
relief in the weird
signal. We feel better
this way, overwhelmingly alone, distorted and contorted against
the sprawling seashore. I felt wet hands groping from below,
in the shallows like a
dream serpent and squealed.
We follow the thread into its knotted center and curl
against the cluster, crushing
our inner vacancy, kneading it
into a firm and solid
concentration, a pill, a
pulsation, a
reminiscent beacon.