deepundergroundpoetry.com
DeepUnderground#7
“How our pathways open and close, like portals…” - Cipher_O
(Roaming the Snow Storm)
White out conditions…
A whistling wind descends upon David’s perception, directly filtered into his imagination, insulating him from the cold.
Even further, he feels the warmth of hot apple cider on an autumn hey ride.
Weather induced solitude.
Just as ship captains select departures, based upon weather…
So to did he, select departures, based upon omens in the tides and the air.
Whispers in the subconscious, filtered into the faculties of pattern recognition and even…
Supernatural considerations.
Like that sixth sense, sending signals.
Appearing like lighthouses in pulsating obscurities.
* * *
The rolling streets, most, old world brick, wound through a sequence of student housing, each abode a unique ship on an ocean of mystery and experience.
He avoided all of that.
Did he also avoid experience and mystery?
He wondered about that sometimes…
But then, the mysteries he was interested in were perhaps of the sort that it would or should, naturally, preclude him from partaking in the regularities of the regular.
He is irregular, he observes, momentarily.
Sometimes irregular leads to fluidity.
Fluidity, having an effect on longevity, that is to say, surviving this crazy shit show.
* * *
If anyone saw him, they may have believed themselves to have experienced a sighting of the Abominable Snowman.
If he had a beard he might have icicles in it.
Instead of icicles, his cheeks scream scarlet, as heat vapors mirror his respiration.
Turning on a razor, down the path and steps to his lower floor apartment, in a three story house, his hand feels like metal to magnet, touching key to door knob.
His lair, catacomb like, permeated in Earth based vibrations.
* * *
Removing the computer bag, slung over his shoulder, holding the haul of his journey, he sets in carefully on his faux leather computer chair.
Removing layer after layer, realizing the nature of his breathing, somehow encoded with a primal texture.
* * *
Crystal beads of water impact his skin, breaking into rivulets, taking with them, the varying impressions from the days endeavors.
He could feel himself decompressing, a much needed phenomenon.
He was learning.
Learning the ways of the machine aspect of himself.
When one becomes in tune with such hemispheres, one may be driven in a very different way.
It is a balance, perhaps, like creatures that dwell different dimensions.
Not as strange as it sounds.
Sometimes, it occurred to him, the brain, itself, is…
Interdimensional.
By design.
Published 21st Dec 2022
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