Vibration (After Cave) / Aaron Boothby

Your heart, it’s a knot of flames, a knave of a feathers. In the dream sea, green words flex and shiver.

 Sodium blues embrace eye’s lush urchins. Mouths of floral animals reach into flood. That was. That is. That will be. Your flexible substantial prism enveloping. An entry named sleep. A shivering fabric when awake. Being waking on. And on. Wrapped within turbulent arms fluorescing green. Awaking sleep. Torn. A melody should be playing. A clear bell rung. An iris settles into sea’s refusal to be mirror.

Skin is where your shiver’s visible. Nerves muscle a declaration. When a word strikes. Where or is it. Absorbed. Where a breath’s made permeable. How a word squeezes a left knee between thumb and finger. Alters terms of noise. What corolla is. Something other than visual. How a flaming knot takes root as riddle. Testimonial to feathered cosmologies. Archipelagos floating in a cornea’s sentence.

A dream sea not sufficient for solve. Relations are submarine. A knot asks after. Tentacles radiant into a surround. Your gaze from an anchored depth. Muscled forms twisting to smoke. Undoing. Even to know what is. What is not stay. Tidal dialogues beginning to end themselves. Translucent flesh coalescing to monumental choral assemblages of nebulae. Dissolving. Undone by a mouth’s waking.

Where soul’s fabric bathes. Harmonic unravelling. A theft of fabric’s watery thunder. They’re not smoke but toothed solidity. Engines of blood who glide. Tear. Plummet. A balletic constellation named consume. You could not relent. Nor relate. There is a phrase for any sensation. Unrecoverable. To find it you’d have to be someone else. To find it I would have to be you. There is no solution.

They know current. Not mobility. What has moved after dream. Altered. A flow has sung between islands. Adagios of breakers on reef’s sexual communions. Washing a world in foam. They do not know you. Will not. Unless dissolved material. Salt of blood enduring most longingly. Iron rusted out. Bone’s capacities crumble to a sound of bells. A melody should be playing. That means something.

It is how words oxygen to flex themselves. Find nutrients in drift. You deploy an instability. Swallow pearl. Guzzle what waits inside a shell. Touch for a moment a fabric like awake. Nerves slide back into nebulae. Heart pumps no say. There is no solution. You are a harmony of autonomies. Drowning within awake. Being’s waking on and on. Without respite. From shiver that comes upon.

Nerves quiver their submarine gestures towards forget.

Aaron Boothby is a poet from California now living in Montréal. Work has been published in PRISM, Axolotl, Liminality, and other journals while a chapbook titled Reperspirations, Exhalations, Wrapt Inflections was published in 2016 with Anstruther Press. A website can be found at

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