Untitled 1 Poem by Faustina Marie

Pulsing
Pulsing to move
Pulsing to eat, to breathe
Pulsing to live
Each pulse, each contraction
Of my translucent muscles
Send my hundreds of tiny fingers
Into a perfectly synchronized wave

Or not hundreds of tiny fingers
Maybe just a dozen or so legs of seaweed
Each at least tenfold
The width of the main body

The clear, or tinted dome
That shelters the little cloud
Of internal clockwork

No sense of direction
No sense of vision
Just movement
For food, breath, life
Just pulsing