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The Explosives Specialist


how it starts should be louder. like fireworks, or, perhaps, different chemicals-- a detonation in the brain, action potential at the neurons, a firing, gun-bang synapse. but that's never how it starts. there are no clues, no god-send to alert me that i am in the presence of the first of the golden race. it's a creeping awareness, a rumbling in my reticular formation that hints that another has arrived. but my addition goes as follows: the first time i saw you bottle-rockets lit up the inside of my skull, and i was red and gold inside. composition four laced my brain like caravaggio's halos until i was divine. you crumbled my cathedrals with your quiet dynamite, wired my bones for demolition. the smoke inside of me never clears, but twists under my skin like a hurricane on a landless planet. you stir up my dust, dust of my cities. remember this, because i will forget: for you, i would exist only once.

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My most recent. Enjoy!


1/10/2010 9:59 AM Premium
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Votes: 3
Views: 1,010
Date: 12/30/09
Other: Writing