A fog of song surrounds us,
lyrics like liquid liquor-lights
licking crimson-tinged instants of time
off dazzling flashes of rhythm and symmetry
with flickering simplicity,
which flits across consciousness as a clock tick-tocks.
It all makes sense.
Then a roving whirlpool twirls and hurls us,
hurtling through crippling crumbling tunnels
and lame labyrinths of reason,
where desire, a red-winged snake-bird preys
and feral, frenzied specters pray
and festering spectators fixate and rain down
pain and shame with eyes like salt
too soon in wounds only forgotten by zombies
and other dead-hearted work-hardened work-pieces.
Silence falls louder in the mind than the ring of church bells.
Then confusion and delusion prowl in
and howl out prolific and tick-like streams of blood-
that cut the heart’s arteries like frigid bridge-blowers,
like rigid selfish cells starting wars to quell the tide of selflessness,
to let us lie our lives away just to survive.
They can’t drown out the sound, though:
the madman’s laugh left hanging in the aftermath of calculation
like a bowstring’s twang
or a dancer’s fluid hips slipping over the fringe of existence.
Awareness alights and dark eyes brighten.
Perception’s deception can’t hold a candle to the flash-flood
of a flash-banged habit blasting the blood-brain-dam to shambles,
splitting scripted lies in twain and breaking railroad ties
on which glide grease-stained trains of thought.
Here we are.
where narcissistic knots of neurosis dissolve
and monkey-fisted blunders somehow breach the bleak horizon,
where lightning sunders and thunder smites,
to find beauty in its futile brilliance,