Nurrevir

A river runs through it. Like blood coursing over stones. Like love cursing over bones. Blue blood pouring through my veins. The divining rods twitch and do their work. Glinting in the dark brown velvet murk.

Riverrun, past eye and appendix, from swerve of gall to bend of pituitary, this my blue fluid tributary. This, my inner snake-like charm. This, my poison-tipped messenger of harm. This, my blue-lined life-force within.

By the rivers of Styx, I broke down and begged, let me in! Let me cross, let me pass. I’ve paid my fee a hundred times. My amniotic aquifer can no longer hold its precious blue liquid gold.

Ocean blue, midnight blue, the blood-rust blue of bruises, both above and below the surface. A bend in the river. A-mend in my memory. A last-gasped, gift-wrapped au revoir to Nurrevir, my inner serpentine self.

For a body which no longer flows with its burning-blue star-flecked stream of consciousness can no longer be considered sentient.