David Wirsig Black Eyes
it's that old recurring dream where you're drowning
flailing your arms out, fearful and frantic
and black waves are curling and pounding
down onto your head somewhere in the Atlantic
through the fathoms below you a shadow
is gliding up towards you with singular purpose
and hundreds of thousands of gallons
of ocean froth and foam as it breaks the surface
its black eyes find you almost at once
you can't hide, swim away or take air into your lungs
to scream for help that won't come
and oftentimes I am awoken
at three in the morning by screams in the attic
I'll run upstairs, wrench the door open
call out a warning (and try not to sound panicked)
but my hammering heart hears the voices
of spirits that tempt us, the scorn that they've spoken
I'll remember the sad frightened noises
of an old friend who dreamt once of storms on the ocean
and black eyes looking up from below
and black eyes looking up from below
and black eyes looking up from below
and black eyes looking up from below
