Space Proteus

This is my eye of confusion,
a white disc coned with questions:
who, why;
the cavalcade of glitter-folk
snake, red songs, beat-the-drum
in my target, what is life but art
that pulls apart the tangle
of sad hair.

I sing among stars,
like the last whale.

My echo, like a warm varnish,
envelopes the lost rocks,
the black fish which tumble
in the sunless sea.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.