by Mrs. Zabinsky
it is but a thin membrane that separates
us from
these inner-selves
meninges encasing the temporal lobe, among
others,
perception shuttling along a
neurotransmitter’s inky squirt
how we function ourselves!
a sunset imagined at daybreak,
glacial movements like giants gleaming in
the
wreckage of a space shuttle, these thoughts,
sparks of brilliant axon-fire
scrolling invisible hues against taught
lids
imagination
fraught in frigid fingertips;
the edge of detail caught in a dim
half-light,
nothing else to illume
who are we but gray matter
sliding in our cranial shells
this creativity squirreled somewhere
quiet, deep
little else but this do we have to give
to each other
No comments:
Post a Comment