Monday, June 02, 2008

Reality Storm

is what you get when the gauze
on which the world is painted wears thin
and sometimes rips. This is what it's like:

first the electric tingle on your forearms
and a taste of bitter lemon under your tongue.
Your mouth fills with saliva
and the water blinks in the sun like one
monstrous eye. Trees move without wind

and there's a sound like Maxwell's demon laughing
or a cataract of garbage pouring from a Dumpster
that makes you turn and stare--

--at nothing. The torn edges of creation
blow past you like a blizzard of confetti on a wind
that smells of vanilla and rust.

Hang onto something.

People have gotten sucked into reality storms before. They don't come back.

The pressure drop pops your eardrums
the sidewalk blackens and curls like burning paper
and the breeze from the abyss feels... thick
not warm, not cold. And as the rift seals itself

you may glimpse Leviathans blowing bubbles
and commenting to each other: "That one's torn."

Collection available! Knocking from Inside


Dale said...

Exellent poem.

HL said...

I like this

"and there's a sound like Maxwell's demon laughing"

bu why is it the Leviathans get all the editorial time, how about the cockroaches and the microbes with the long memories?

Stan Ski said...

Quite scary to think that this is a storm we all have to face at some time.

texasblu said...

Wow - your words are a screaming meance - incredibly potent. I like it! You always have such interesting thoughts...

Adamantium Inside said...

"that smells of vanilla and rust."

Picture me this. Very interesting.

SweetTalkingGuy said...

Frightening! So, yes it's a great piece of writing - it realy works for me. This must be a an oobe or an nde 'cos nobody comes back from the other side, do they?

sister AE said...

I especially like:

"the gauze
on which the world is painted wears thin
and sometimes rips. "