THE ABYSSAL ZONE
Down here, you better bring your own light.
Better grow light bulbs from your forehead
To distinguish dark from deeper dark.
Teach your gut to wait a week before hunger.
Then a month. Then a year. Teach your tongue
To love what falls from better places.
Down here, we all bleed anti-freeze. We breathe
Slow. We trace the traceless, call it a road.
We face things that don’t bother growing faces.
To hide, turn translucent. Let the sightless
See right through you. Let the skyless
Night make brittle stars. Let day die.
Down here, it’s the pressure that gets you.
How many atmospheres can one heart bear?
Down here, there’s always a deeper down.
Corinna Schulenburg 