Come a-creeping across salt crusted lips, lies from the depths, of a city down in the ancient dark that dreams deeper than death. Fortunes tossed into the sea in its pursuit, timber filtering down through the waves in splinter showers. Whole lives pressed against hot steel and burning coals, forging another man’s dream of wild excess, dragging slow glass into portholes and driving heavy rivets into inflexible hulls. Crystal flutes peeling eyes over mineral samples and radioactive eyes peering from the edge of space down into the churning blue, chasing an idea so far beyond biological comprehension that it is still diluted down into legend and fantasy. The sad reveal comes all too late; the city does not lie below, but looms above.
Paddy Dobson
11th January 2021