flirting with infinity

or

the gentle cycle

on repeat

 

four thirty friday

morning,

i shuffle toward

the bathroom

like i’m looking

for rick grimes’

brains

for breakfast.

jonah hex in

1880’s

gotham

while my

bowels

move like

anna

pavlova’s

dying

swan.

i pull back the

curtains and

open the

window, a

mist of rain in

the snow

globe glow of

the streetlight.

the air carries

into the room

and i smell a

childhood

memory of my

nana’s attic,

feed myself 

a hardboiled

egg in lieu of

black and

white grey

matter. i sip

coffee and

think about

heavy d.

and then, it’s

thirty on the

elliptical with

the sweet

honeybee

buzz of

terence

mckenna’s

imagination

in the light

of nature in

my earbuds.

the pink and

purple

tentacles of

my will wrap

around

my arms and

legs, pump

them like

spigots in a

dry spell.

afterwards, 

i shower,

dress and fix

lunch, get

as high as a

kite in

chicago.

i drive to

work, work,

and drive

home.

i do not want

to talk about

it, thankfully,

i live alone…

the buddha

and

frankenstein

monster in

my corner, i

fondle

mjolnir and

stare at the

eiffel tower

as the word

appears

upon the

page before

i put it there.

i slit my

wrists and

she pads

barefoot

through my

blood. my

wounds

heal almost

instantly like

wolverine.

she dances

red

footprints in

intricate and

blasphemous

patterns on

the

floorboards.

i don’t waste

time or more

blood with

blushing. i

pluck a

wallflower

from the

garden of

lonely, she

smells like

nirvana

before she

wilts and

leaves me

alone…

the children

will make

macaroni

art

depicting

scenes of

our great

war, long  

after the

fire

we set

to one

another

has died.

i plant my

ashes

and

sprout

between

cushions

along

the old

millstream.

my stride a

super rare

kingdom

come flash

with the

sinestro

corps

power

battery,

ring, shield

construct

and

parallax

entity.

i roll

a

critical

hit,

encounter

a can-do

couch

farmer.