Archive 06/24/09 - (2)

   

Sixty-Four Years Downwind from Hiroshima

                                                                  

One growling, howling night,

When lightning bolts scribbled jagged outlines of grotesque beasts

Across the sky's shadow-flickering cave walls,

Your dreams crashed, collapsed, ceased being dreams,

Came sifting down, to the base of your brainstem's drain,

Like white noise dissipating into silence

Or irradiated fallout vaporizing everything in its path,

For a thousand miles out from ground zero,

Millions of miles into the cosmos wombing your imagination.

 

And that was that — a nonrecurring event that went unrecorded,

Other than by you, the victim of that cruel holocaust,

Who never did recuperate, readjust to existence, subsistence,

Never spent another night in deep or shallow sleep,

Never surfaced from that cave, with the erased-petroglyph walls,

Never reconciled your irradiated dreams with reality,

Never resumed your primal exercise of eradicating day's stressors,

By filtering them through slumber's oneiric prisms,

Indeed, died inside the confines of your shock-waved mind.

 

 

 

 

 

                                               

 

06/24/09 - (2)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
       

 

 
   
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