feast or famine

Why is it that those with phobias of water always seem to drown?
I am not afraid of water.
I am terrified of its opposite.

Pharaoh had the same nightmare:
Seven swollen cows grazed blithely in the sun.
Seven skinny kine rose from the river
Their bloodshot eyes bulging in their skeletal heads.
There was not much of a chsase.
The fat cows sat bloated in the sun chewing their cud in that lazy way
When those sinewy cattle struck fiercely,
Suckling their teats, cows bleating in horror, before consuming them whole.
Then the sun shone harsh on the
Seven sickly devils standing giant and grotesque
In that washed out scene.

Lucky for Pharoh, pyramids can hold grain,
     hold back the famine,
     keep the nightmare at bay.
So Joseph and Pharoh hoarded the grain
And the nightmares stopped.

I cup my hands upward to catch the rain
But it dribbles down my wrists,
Leaks through my fingers.
I cannot hold it.
I cock back my head,
Drink as though to drown.

O, how I love the water!
How it sings down my throat,
     jingle bells splashing through me,
Cold, clear, angelic mirrors
     making me beautiful, joyful.
A thousand rainbows locked into each drop.

I drink until my belly distends and my eyes buldge--
     wanting to hold it all inside.
But in the morning I am still thirsty.

In desperation, I built a dam to stop the water's retreat;
Built it carefully, soundly, impentatriable,
A lifetime supply stymied.
But as the waters rise
The panic does not ebb.
Is it enough?
Will it hold?
And though my throat burns
     my tounge swollen,
     my breath rattling,
I ration the liquid with military diligence.

I cannot lose it.
I cannot lose it.

My dam is full.
The sun gilds it with gold during the day.
At night, the dark echos in its depths.
My body longs to plunge
     headfirst, feeling the wetness pull up through my body,
     bubbles giggling past my skin,
     eyes straining to see beyond.
Gravity scorned, my body light and lithe
     dances through seaweed
     shimmies past sound.
But my face and my feet remain dry.
I cannot risk contamination.

Sometimes I hate it though!
Hate how it prunes my fingers
    and stings my eyes
Hate how its presence turns breeze to gale,
    earth to mud,
    fire to ashes.
But mostly I hate how one day I know I will lose it.

Funny thing how stagnet water turns bitter and brown.
I have built a dam and
I held it in.
But the rainbows have left.
Alone in the barren landscape,
My nightmare realized,
I sit beside the acrid water,
While salt water wets my cheeks.

I have other dreams now:
Meager rations lay in the larder
While soldiers tax the buxom ears--
     a famine before the dearth.
Could Joseph forsee
Baiting his people to enslavement--
Building pyramids
With bricks of Hebrew blood?

Perhaps the hydrophones were wrong to try to stay dry.