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By The Tapping


Retreating some,
I get an overview;
watch my decades behind
and below;
how they fit into a bigger picture
of time, war, famine
and hard work,
deaths and births, loves and hates
and indifferences,
the evolution of Man,
the demise of the Neanderthals
and the loneliness of Homo sapiens,
and further out the beginning of organic life
down the depths of fluid
over this rocky suspended realm,
made possible and unavoidable
by supernovas
ejecting the elements
- but long before that
the speculative breath of NOTHING

I close the bedroom door behind me
and secure it with an empty bottle
of 1500 ml Grant's,
which I shove in place with my foot;
fall back onto the bed
and continue where I was
in Helen Macdonald's Vesper Flight

A mosquito sings
in front of me, dances,
explains a whirling geometry
of a dozen dimensions in concert;
an opera aria coming to a halt on my hand

I'm sensitive to the infra end of things

The mosquito operates the opposite side of events,
but with enough intensity
to pry through every laconic indifference

I modernize my thinking;
have it pure and merciless,
albeit dressed in words that fall
like meteorites and falcon droppings

There was a spur of panic
and displacement this morning

On my way down the stairs
to the kitchen on the bottom floor,
I suddenly lost sight of who I was...
I wasn't just my body,
but I was hanging on to me,
just behind, like a backpack

I was slightly out of synch
with myself, numb,
out of touch but attached,
observing my thoughts like objects,
not seeing double but being double

At the bottom of the stairs
I was sucked up by myself again,
quite relieved

A soft rain walks past
on billions of small feet

I'm reassured and calmed
by the tapping

The universe is breaking rules
inside my head

I bow and smile




Fri vers (Fri form) av Ingvar Loco Nordin VIP
Läst 11 gånger
Publicerad 2022-06-17 11:27



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