What About It?

What about a one-eyed squid?
Most of the accidental
Needs so little remaking

In order to make the most
Of it that the least of it
Begins to seem The Artist

To the artist who dives down,
Knife in the teeth, teeth like knives,
Obsessed with that sinking prize,

Cluelessly biting a clue,
These accidental edges
So similar to design.

The only reason to sink
Is to feel the pressure rise
With the drop, the surrender

Until the accidental
No longer needs to be sought
Nor made much of, but enters,

Stage bottom, diabolus
Ex machina, the Kraken
Of coincidence, those knives,

Remember? They resemble
The one true knife, the last word,

One world's phosphorescent eye.