All will be well
Three dimensions of a demented fantasy
plays in effervescent locomotion.
My breath is hijacked,
strictly stridden out of my lungs;
their elements held up high in the air:
signalling surreptitious surrender.
My twilight smile rivals
various arctic grimaces;
unleashing machine-gun accusations
from recognized safety stations.
From ticks to tocks cannibalistic
suave silences kindle skin for heat;
shocking our time incandescent.
Blistering rapidly-make haste-
the atmosphere's tinted sooty.
Bullets creep closer while the night
brings down obscure eyelids.
Shaking, not expecting the suicidal
surge that swells inside the depths
of her tenebrosity.
I flaunt complications over my shoulders
as a shawl interlaced with stress.
Submitting to the exertion of step-after-step,
because I was told by a black-night
whisperer that all will be well.
So with the bullets brushing my back
and the nightmares eclipsing my vision.
All will be well.