Of Aqua by Otis Elliott


Poetry by Otis Eliott


Of Aqua


From the planks of a dampened room,


blumen suicides

draped over the mantels,

breathing sandpaper atmosphere,




Some hang like monkeys,

hooking tails

from aluminum ceilings,

where the only sense of design,

comes from consequential defeat.

And now,

for the first time in our bubblegum lives,

we flood,

outward, as the estuary,

leading elsewhere

than this manic cardboard platform

where we find ourselves at every sundown,

and rise.


The Pacific morning, what does it communicate to you?

Atlantic crucifixion,

half complete – never mind.

Couldn’t care less – they,

drunk on coal,

I, electricity,

plastic boned,

marching out into the courtyard

demanding my system is de-iced in an instant,

while orbiting the moon,

mane soaked in full fat cola.


Throw me to the lions,



and French,

swamping arctic,

Icelandic fury,

ahead – dueling landscapes with their armory disabled,

in waterworld, there are no victors,

only the floating corpses

of everyone you love and know,

bellies as buoys,

wet rotting nervous system.


By the arrival of Bangladesh

our clocks will have stopped.




Featured Image Credit

12 May 2017