I was made to be milk glass—
Lately, I've been more of
a scattering of light,
a technicolor oil spill,
effervescent kerosene,
a phosphene
in a running eye,
fluorescent aerosol
going cumulonimbus
in a green sky;
a variegated skin rash
caused by shining neon bile
all festering and iridescent;
a tattered road map
on the wall of a food court,
bearing incandescent roads
twisting like snakes
eating their own tails;
a human being in the form of a
kaleidoscopic feedback loop
passed back and forth
between the mouth and the ear
and the mouth and the ear forevermore,
burning the tongue, the finger tips
and teetering on the edge
of glittering, glorious incendium—
After the smoke has cleared,
I can go back
to sleeping on the shelf.