All Is Water

Swim grimly like the salmon, sperm.

Die upstream in your jihad.

Extend the chain, let the worm

Exult. There is no god but God.

Escaping air? Must come and bide.

The kettle’s screaming into steam.

Must join the microcosmic slide—
The pane, the wriggling rain, the stream.

Outside, the puddled blood runs black

Through cracked and thinning icy skin.

The world’s a hemophiliac—
Far better it had never been.

Is there no balm in blasphemy?

No lordly comfort in despair?

Thales laughs and pours the tea;

Outside, the raindrops rend the air.


Seth Braver

About Seth Braver

Seth Braver's poetry is published by obliging editors now and again (most recently at The Rotary Dial, Snakeskin, and Kin). He lives, for the time being, in Olympia, Washington.
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