The Feet of the Jellyfish

Take a breath and breathe. There, where the oxygen is less. Find your liberation.

The Feet of the Jellyfish The feet of the jellyfish,
reflected in the shade, pass through silver bushels, a mass-evaded glade. At its heart the pressure beats at two million joules, against the stomach of the whale where drowned lie many fools. Lost and sullen, what a shame, dearest Yorick, wooden frame, spinning travel, through and through, upwhirl gravel grey and blue. There, where they fret across the strings, a d-minor, let on crying wings, shyly flies by water surface wailing, screaming in the darkness erupting so, that no one hears fulfilling his deepest fears. The feet of the jellyfish, reflected in the shade free me from the bushels, the ghost of silver blade, through my heart the pressure beats at not a single joule, against the walls of my throat, a single, rabid fool. Unforgiven, what a shame, dearest Me, so unaflame. Woven basket, through and through, holds my heart, so cold and blue.