July 2 by The Running Son
ςuρer ςhock (and awe)
Damn. you flipped me on.
a natural move,
A weakness in my wiring?
Me? (Man of flint and steel misfiring?)
You no more meaning to spark-fire
this whole installation
than weaving three strands to braid
in simple conversation.
But beginning with the tips of
my extremities, like a switch
ignited the man in me: a quantum
shock-wave, rippling across
successive galactic stages, corrugating
the Milky Way, a concentric display
all star based voyages throughout space,
piercing the crystalline lacing
between your hard-won trust, and my
bursting shirt buttons.
I’m brave today.
Bracing myself from vertigo maybe,
but my glasses have been thrown
super far away. I feel super
in every way. A super man.
I even feel more tan. But I like green,
and I envy (to no end) having
a weakness so clear,
Hey look here!
Beats hardly even knowing when it appears.
You wound my tach out
and switched every damn gear.
by Jim Aldrich (:
.namaste. -• ö.tH(ink)Mÿstiç •- .namaste.