awoke on a desert island
on a mountain top
in a cave
at the bottom of the ocean
lying in a crater on the moon
perched on a branch in the rainforest
and in a box six feet deep and steady sinking lower
my stomach drops
as my head floats in a stupor
more aloof gravitational exclusion
newton was incalcuably off in his scribblings
the apple more concussionary than illuminating
swimming in the abject dismissal of softer things
i can barely keep my form upright from the constant pull of centrifugal nuance and universal untruths
she floats like a breeze
untouched by the laws of physics
while each labored step brings me one closer to the molten core
as the increasing pressure compresses my organs to diamond
she is uncaring as she tiptoes across the barren land
and it is here
in the no man’s land between crust and mantle
where the nestled bodies of moais slumber amidst the coiled serpents of lore
where up and down are concepts
and the truth is subjective and woven like a doily on the end table of a nursing home in the middle of war torn paris circa nineteen forty one
filed for a permit to ignore physiological deviations in favor of permutations in the intrinsical nature of dysfunctional molecular biology
zig when it should zag
the live studio audience claps and laughs whenever the sign lights up
and i have the remote control
sad trombones and wonky special effects
as the credits roll
quickly scrolling names of all that have fallen into the spatial reasoning behind these fluctuations in basic fundamental law
her name typed in bold facetype in black on the ebony screen
unseen by anyone but us with our special glasses from the back of the comic book
two nickels and a self addressed stamped envelope
a butterfly with bat wings
and the lowest point of the pit in my stomach
mike’s manic word depot is filmed before an undead studio audience on location in the stygian fields
sponsored by rico’s rusty razor emporium and the home of existentical deferrment located in sunny downtown pompeii
weather says it is going to be a real scorcher so wear extra sunscreen
staring at the eclipse in hope of an elusive vision of goddess
risking the blindness to have you burnt into my mind
who am i fooling, thinking i’ll set down the quill and move on to happier times
i’ll never stop the voices, remorseless whispering bastards, screaming in soft tones, calling me back
always calling
see you next week
same bleak time
same weak channeled frustration
You wrote in such freedom!
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