It is in the nets

It is all waterlessness,
weighted, sticky,
suspended in, un-
able to roll down, a bead of water and
peel away, grasped, released.
Whales

have a fascination with human
hands, can sense
a long ancestry,
prehistorically they swim
to our painful momentary
suspended selves,
the clicking of our
keyboards, clicking and clicking
in the room, suspended,
their noses (round—how embarrasing).
it is all waterlessness, un-

able to roll down, release
(webless/space/matter). The girl
before the heavy door,
as she reached became all
loose skin and cartilege,
the shadow of the whale-skeleton
suspended, we
see it intimately, the
clicking of our keyboards, the
reverberation of each
cartilege, each cartilege-web,
each vein-finger
around my heart, (round
—how unoriginal). Sticky,
weighted. I

have a fascination
with my human
hands. They will become all
loose skin and cartilege-web. I
have always been good. I

have always been good at
asking the questions. Is it
the reminder of themselves? Is it
the echo
of something lost?
Is it the need for touch or
am I just human?
The need for completion?
Have you heard the clicking?
The clicking that coral makes
underwater? The clicking of our
keyboards in the suspended
stillness?