A nothing from nowhere cast his words to a world wide wind, hindered by periphery. |
Multitudes From An Unglazed, Shattered Heart And the days after creation ignorantly wasted 'neath a truer light None purposed a dim-lit brain before hot as a broiled oven light gases ignited the stove soul — passion melting in metal bakeware. Particles collided at higher rates of speed until flashpoint. Perfection exploded on walls designed to self-clean, except the victim, clay heart, not glazed or red still beats. Not put down, or out of misery, rapid expansion projects beyond its container. Vapor escapes, creates multitudes of universes unnoticed, recreating eight whirling planets, a precious princess within, lone denied dwarf and micro-ball, center to all, centrifugal as magnet. Yet, this hyperactive heart of no known design grows infinite, light years away and ahead of any that would understand, repulsion spinning and distancing within an immeasurable incipient void, readied to receive its haywire, wayward pigeon splattering — random atoms collecting, amassing more devious, wobbly orbs — brilliant illumination — fire-bright dust humans call stars in other, as yet named, chocolate bars. In black, lifeless journey propelled it to Hulk-smash emptiness down random, interfering constructions. No blue-print clutching contractor or laborers viewed. Moving at careening pace, he cannot conceive all in a monstrous wake. Unflinching, does not hesitate. Word, word, word, adjective- noun-verb — highlighted, asteroid punctuations move about, collision courses redirected, redefine affected systems it’s attaining. If only humans could read beyond his opaque manner. Only it manages imagine if he should steer free, in a blink, drop finally in her sink to soak, scrub microbial dust free for the rest of a century. The oven cools at some point. The heart well below it’s peak 1500 centigrade, she puts in a box -- cannot be disposed. Remnants glued, acrylic applied, she sidles, eyes it from one side. Lifted, lays by her bedside on the stand with the lone switch-bulb installed to burn alive her nights, comfort her silence, when she can’t sleep, touching bubbled-smooth surface and dream a day he roosts in quiet, like seasoned roast, or drags himself across a dewy lawn, limps upstairs, a battle-worn cat defeated. Tattered black fabric smelly, he is designated a mattress side. She’ll remember when they convened in the middle, intertwined, never too tired from heat at flashpoint. He’d bring home the cosmos in a brief case, if she let it past the door, never framing its contents to adorn a wall. He lived and forgot all. The brittle, clay blob/pot/pigeon dim-gloams, needs fuel and a map for redirection home. 2.24.23 a bit much, like me, and difficult to sort out that big bang metaphor for a heart that bursts from its love and never returns to normal, though she thinks she can make use of him, though damaged as he tries to finding meaning in third person, as narrator, throughout and at end, retelling dramatically and otherwise boring story of societal affect on a highly functioning atypical person who suffered emotional devastation that takes a lifetime to heal from, opposed to the ease of the neurotypical. there, I summarized it. it's my little monster poem all glued back together in one big blog thingy infinitely expanding as we/I speak/write (so folksy/yet not) and cannot stop the path the initial explosion caused. a calmer metaphor would be a stone dropped in water, ripples that ring/wave out until smooth as glass again, unless crash back, overlap, because of restricted size/space to spread, and resulting mental devastation, but still, returns to smooth...unless, windy, water added by rain and other sources, as murky puddle car tires and children smash, or...imagination depleted...finish yourself... |