Elijah Perseus Blumov

In comprehensive, silent, frigid dark,

they consummate primeval agony

that manifests the farther side of God–

they have no need for sin, or sign, or sun.

The one, with eyes so wide and dark and dead

they seem to be the mirrors of her world,

unfurls the monstrous blooming of her arms

to sucker and embrace her savage nemesis,

whose hunger is the kraken’s own antithesis,

and swarms of talons tear the writhing whale.

He, the vastest brain that roams the earth,

condemned to wander solitary murk

until he drowns—what is this life to him?

Purblind in blood, he gnaws her hidden beak

as if this monstrous prodigy of ocean

was no mere meal, but all not understood.

He rips her–lets her shredded body fall,

a swirling cherry blossom in the night,

then bolts out from a cloud of his own blood

to storm once more the mindless miles of water.

Therein to seek no mate, nor kin, nor friend,

but all the forms of hunger’s formless goal,

his boiling heart built for this dark and cold.