This Is The Silence That Strikes As A Dagger Falls

I.
 
Upon awakening
 
my skull feels clustered
 
with the deadwood
 
of dreams.
 

 
Raising a lightning-soaked hand
 
to my eyes I am suddenly buried
 
by the approaching rumble
 
of a swaggering summer storm.
 
 
 
Stepping outside
 
into the midnight mist
 
the trees look like logs
 
carved from clouds
 
of interstellar gas.
 
 
 
Gazing upwards into
 
the blurred atmosphere
 
my star-drunk thoughts gallop
 
through the expansive and opaque landscape
 
as my legs shiver and contract
 
as if yearning to outrun
 
the turbulent shell of sky
 
that encircles us all.
 
 

In the frenzied flutter
 
poignant flashes of thunderclouds
 
tilt the stained-glass revolver of my mind upwards
 
to marvel at the melting moonstone above
 
which looks so bioluminescent,
 
like a thousand year old Honey Fungus
 
leaping the eight light seconds of distance
 
by sliding down the ubiquitous root system
 
of expanding space-time.
 
 
 
II.
 
As my cheeks overflow
 
with tears from the sky
 
I pierce the livid sapphire ceiling
 
with the pain from my eyes,
 
recalling how we once huddled together
 
in the explosive arms of night,
 
unafraid to bask in the eternal swerve and sway;
 
content to marry our wounds to the phase-shifting sky
 
as we attempted to untangle evolution’s straitjacket of consciousness,
 
one thread of free will at a time.
 
 
 
It was then that an asteroid field of gray light crashed into our eyes,
 
injecting our mirrored gaze with such tender momentum
 
that soon we ripped into the heaving skies like a pair of wiry hands,
 
slowly unfurling an underlying layer of painted canvas
 
that resplendently filled us with the irrepressible buoyancy
 
of a blazing dawn sky.
 
 
 
III.

As time stumbled to a halt,
 
the fabric of the cosmos
 
became gilded into the handle
 
of us.
 
 
 
Your imprints
 
drained in oily whirls
 
into my emotional center.
 
 
 
And into the porous medium
 
of your receptive mouth
 
 
 
I planted an orchard
 
of fruiting desire.