The Endless Crossing (Excerpt from “Post Moby”)
The story was almost over it was obvious blood gushed down the flanks of the great beast where it had been penetrated by the metal spear there was a crust laced with black veins creating delicate traceries over a grayish white surface that was roughly pocked and pitted we had been dragged far across the surface of this earth to such a distant place chasing across three seasons of wildly varying hues never fully sure what our motives were but unable to cease the endless forward motion never knowing where the sun might appear on any given day once our spinning had left us dizzy and confused we had ideas that involved the taking of large quantities of fish in nets of artificial rope a salvaging of hooks and threads that led us inexorably to a new identity oriented to magnetic north we had no flesh to cover our sun-thinned bones the skin clinging desperately to cover our embarrassment our voices made sounds like the choking of frogs in smog-filled swamps our vocabularies now minimal as we communicated via the stink of our bodies we had been infected seized and used as a vehicle for some power we had failed to identify we crossed the billions of tons of ocean even as we ourselves were feather-light.
In our dream band, on bass clarinet:
Paul Ilechko is a British American writer who lives with his partner in Lambertville, New Jersey. His work has appeared in many journals, including The Bennington Review, The Night Heron Barks, Southword, Stirring, and The Inflectionist Review. He has also published several chapbooks.
Ran Off With the Star Bassoon 