Death of a Big Fish

for David Lynch

The strangeness inherent in you
was not disturbing, in the end,
not in a sense that prophesied flames, at least,
but opened up a strange vista,
one terrifying in Radcliffe’s vision
of what defines terror:
expanding your soul, not annihilating.

A woman in trouble. Wrapped in plastic.
Bipedal bunny rabbits in human clothes.
Dennis Hopper huffing gas.
Laura Dern with weird stretched-out smile.
Or LAX in brightest day.
The sentimental turned
to sinister. Black Lodge. Dwarf.

These painterly images writhe, disperse,
re-coalesce to form the waking dreams
that were your biggest fish,
aquatic unconscious, darkness to light.
In bold colours. Transcendent sight.