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
Back to earth.
Only to be clawed back
To the pains and pleasures of Samsara,
To taste the bitterness of my own blood,
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!