The prompt is utterly unlike how I always have written. It's fantastic and exactly why I signed myself up for the NaPoWriMo Challenge.
Swimming differs from floating.
While a phantasm is floating, the octopus swims away.
Swimming strums the water. Floating
gets wattled by the moon's whims, a seaweed marionette.
Swimming jams past what jugs the floating.
The silvery school of prey flap and flash and startle by
swimming. Pumice, bad eggs are floating.
Being differs from yearning.
Bruises mend while saudade is lurking like that tome
being unfinished. That recrement, yearning,
closes no distance and salves nothing itself. My steps,
being crickets, sing their yearning
nightly for both more and less than what I am now,
being on the fringe and yearning.
I'm not terribly happy with my result. I'm ok with the first half, but the latter falls flat to me. I wrote myself into a corner. Breaking the concrete could help. I keep returning to Nathan Moore and Dana Guthrie Martin's happy accident of transliterating the same piece. Putting those side-by-side on a large screen is inspiring. I think I need to try transliterating to loosen my imagery.