Strange Explosion

Strange Explosion

I

A taxi rolls by like a sunflower comet; a neutral omen. Ivy’s skin takes on an unnaturally lemony hue. A dunce-hatted corpse smiles bullets from the cab’s back window. Fate can be a mischievous child. The bolted down table jiggles my beige coffee reflection. I touch my head to make sure I’m not actually shaking. She is laughing in between loud slurps. Not jovial outbursts; more like a neurotic biblical plague. Her nerves grow like fast motion flowers and bloom fireworks around her waifish head. I feel the universe shifting about in its car-seat like a nervous baby.

 

II

Ivy swears there is an ocean on the backside of the sun. The water there tastes like Jesus and puppies, and washes away the scummy boredom of social calamity. I know Ivy is ill. I wish I knew which pill to give her; which saint handles these types of tragedies. She wants me explain why purple is the song of all colors. I can’t respond. I just smirk and shake my head because last piece of her puzzle is forever lost.

 

III

A high speed circus of blue/red sirens call her name through my drowsy midnight window. My phone squeals like a wounded cat. The walls are bleeding honest pain laced with conflicted relief. The dream has ended. These are not actual tears; just echoes of a stale frustration. I am the debris field left by the strange explosion.

Reviews

[Kerry O'Connor]

To read these words is to be stranded in a parallel universe wondering if you'll ever find your way home.

Each stanza had an absolute stand-out line for me:
(I) Fate can be a mischievous child... This fell so contrarily upon the inner eye, given the scene.
(II) She wants me explain why purple is the song of all colors... Just love the dream-like logic of that line.
(III) These are not actual tears... So indicative of modern mankind... no longer able to feel, only act. As an aside, I am one who often wakes up crying... not real tears, but they're wet and salty.

[Maurice]

Brilliant imagery. The story is sad. Outstanding piece.

[Tate Morgan]

neurotic biblical plague. lol this is like a detective novel of the thirties e real reaL good one

[freelancejouster]

brilliant. as is usual. as the last, now without her, pain and conflicted relief is a wonderous description and an awful situtation... and purple is the song of all colors, because it's rediance is at least twice that of anyone else's, except for while, of course, but white can't sing much or often.

[KAREN]

Loved stanza 2! The whole poem is priceless, work of art!

[Robin]

you are a master of the use of symbolism ...

[Apathy To Empathy]

Wow...I'm speechless...What can I say? What would you liek me to say?

[jenniewren (J.W. Bouwma..]

ah this one feels so sad.. yet somehow bemusedly so.. i love the triptych structure you've used in these last two pieces.. makings of your next chapbook perhaps?

[Amy Bumpas]

WOW! What a dream this was. Such techno color of illusions,
delusions of a drug laced with the insane.

[OT]

ah so nice!! lots of colours and synesthesia here, senses, tastes - sights!! lots going on as always! your descriptions are just so unique and you tell any story brilliantly! " A dunce-hatted corpse smiles bullets from the cab’s back window." - nice!!

[Jūdan FyreHeart]

Such a surreal take on things. The imagery was very nicely interwoven bringing me to pause and consider, building upon the previous layer. Very nicely done.