The overture sounds a muffled thud, And scraping flesh against macadam. Un-rosined bows screech across nerves, Dividing molecules to atoms. Each neuron fires off, splicing into three The soul from the body, and something indescribably between.
Catching fire, he ascends - "This is what it truly means to be!" Each piece, each side Breaking away in-finitely To somehow become more whole Through division, and in balance. Like a reunion, of holy trinity, Caught ablaze in fissile symphony.
- - -
And like a cork popped from Prosecco, Rewound, and played reversed, He careens with a whining pitch And f a l l s From orbit, Back to earth.
Glimpsing God Only to be clawed back To the pains and pleasures of Samsara, To taste the bitterness of my own blood, Transposed From the ecstasy of Nirvana.
This is how I came to know the realm, In which our feeble bodies lurch. 'Ere I was born as a phoenix from the ashes. In the rear cabin of a hearse.
"Bad Luck: In a Wakeful Contradiction" is now available on Amazon in paperback!