by Zach Sneddon

I stand upon the cliff's edge, and, striding,
Descend upward to the
Possibilities of stone

I reach down to the heavens and touch
The lightning, latch hold, and swallow.
Sweat flies from my pores
As I freeze in the sea, shallow muddy water concealing fleshy,
Half-seen manforms.

I crawl from their bellies, squirming in the
Afterbirth, licking myself clean with a cat's tongue. The Dog
Appears in the distance, and lopes toward me. I jump on the
Dog's back and it carries me to nowhere, squatting and licking
Itself. I survey my environment, and, disliking it, leave.

To a
New one,
Or an old one,
One of my own design I stagger, bashing
My shins against the driftwood and cutting my feet upon the
Mussel shells.
The blood cleans the sand;
The crabs come out to
Feed upon the grains. I stoop to watch one, heavy-clawed,
Skitter past my face while the rains come.
I stand to watch
Water falling like curtains, the lightning in my stomach blasting
Forth at the tumult. It is gone. Tsunamis carry me inland,
Deposit me within an old hard oak.
I move to climb down but slip
And fall upward. My head bangs against trunk. Darkness, and
Light, juxtaposed eternal.

Nothingness is washed away by
Overpowering, unbearable everythingness, my senses
Reel in the
Taste of the sounds, the shape of the flavors, the color of touch.
Purple. Everything purple, then changing.
Cobalt erupts from the
Earth, dyeing everything blue. That blue is powerful, but what it
Means I cannot or dare not discern. Waves of blue upon blue
Upon blue upon blue crawl on by, and I sink in them. Sleep.
Restful. No dreams remembered, much long forgotten.

"Prelude, Pt. II," from Final Fantasy III


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