From the Archives: The Octopus
Featured • Poetry
From the archives: as we head into 2024, we are featuring some of our magazine’s earliest publications. This piece was originally published in issue number four.
I have an inkling my ambiguity
is a sink of deep meaning
I don’t need to speak.
Power in silence, receding
organelle said into sleek
neurotic strangle at the
coral riptide.
Questionable bulb.
I am no colour necessarily.
My camouflage amplified quiet.
Three hearts, nine brains, no skeleton
a soft body, ambulatory boundary
between my sea and the deep brain
to tap information
from the coral root:
there is no telling.
Children? I am singular,
Unfamiliar, spawndark
mob of myself
with the mind off
immutably, an original nine
late, wondering why,
in a tongue not spoken.
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