Prose Poem: National Geographic

Below the frozen sheets of ice fifty feet thick and somber blue spreads an ecosystem of queer creatures that never felt the breeze of vicious freeze above. Nasty buggers with bald heads and orange tentacles try to devour other shadowy abominations, not caring for poison or electric nastiness the latter would shoot at gentler creations. Neon farts of salt trickle down to the charred floor and freeze the diluted water to create the appearance of serpents with their heads stuck in the icy roof. A dump of few dozen orange starfish groove in the floor current apparently after devouring some brainless crustacean biomass. Suspiciously beautiful crystals scatter on the black floor making one wonder if touching them will somehow result in having your arm bit off at the elbow. Sheer ugliness of some swimmers and the bottomless black below make asphyxiation due to running out of oxygen an attractive way to go.

The divers wriggle back to the dive hole and into the cabin with recent images seeming like a vision of a sinner’s afterlife. But thoughts that come to their bedrooms at night still make them want to dive back in and far away into the somber blue.

April 2015