In need of
Distraction,
Direction,
Redemption.
Stripped down, the workmanship laid bare,
Twisted knuckles hang in the air.
At the doorway, pause, freeze, statue-solid,
Like you had never read and your ghost had just disappeared,
And armies marched across your grave,
And your molecules returned to the stars,
Maybe complete, maybe lost beneath.
Flipped out, distortions made clear,
Errors of perception that were held so dear.
On the roadside she slipped into a void,
Caught unaware by the spring light and fresh morning there,
Sucked into the centre of the universe,
Unknowable unknowns pulling her atoms apart,
Manic factories of panic and possibility,
Engines of entropy boiling to start.
Stepped in, infections all clear,
Optical Illusions throw distance too near.
In the office we found a wormhole,
Behind the clutter of thrown-out CRT monitors.
Blasted us into a billion universes at once,
Our every aspect hooked and sucked and funnelled-
Mashed into fine grains,
Crammed into a slick sliver of a quantum tunnel
Threaded thinly through the thick of infinity
And kicked into oblivion.
In need of
Repair,
Respite,
Cool air
Delight…
