Day 2- Work-in-progress, written originally last winter
When I was an octopus
There are certain colors to the action called writhe certain cremations and correlations to the avoidance called write, certain ways of wrapping oneself around skull in order to fit body through the most invisible of cracks in the red flesh rock wall.
Once, at the aquarium all the fish of a particular gulp size went missing from the tank a hall over from me. No one noticed for days that there was a walnut shaped hole between the stones in the wall of the sea where I pretended to live. Afterward, no one noticed for another week entire that my head would resemble a walnut if all the writhing flesh compressed into a point of electric orange a fire-tipped sucking in slipping tight limbs through tighter holes, yes like that, the octopus is rumored to be the only creature that like us, enjoys such things, but unlike us has no penchant for setting rivers on fire.