I, the Explosion

Comments (0) Issue 3, Poetry, Writing

I, the Explosion

By Emily Grochowski

 

I, the explosion disintegrate to particles,

Fractured glass en masse by newspaper articles,

Forgotten prints, déjà vu of Kristallnacht reenacted

This is creation; do not despair I am abstracted.

 

Omit the guillotine for my executioner;

this was an act of Lucifer,

The cataclysmic vein instilled by propaganda externally prevails,

Yet I tire of pogrom mentality, heathens placing faith in the deranged,

Incapable imitations, staged actors, leaders executed much estranged,

How strange a stranger getting stranger and being stranger then/than stranger

Onlookers fade to pale

deceived by the travail

Of finesse.

Transfixed in terror? Quite the error,

It was my suddenness

 

Flare of mental dystopia ineffable still unchained,

Are scarring these mysticized reams in lacerations pained,

The consonants are exuding pools of festering blood

And vowels formulate a supernova crimson flood.

 

Retreating time is fun and knee (funny), nanoseconds till detonation,

Once again I reanimate to next reality’s cremation,

Your dead sensory perceptions provide much solace, consolation

     To me, quite I am the schizophrenic.

 

Thus ought you apprehend a nuclear missile nearing,

I, the explosion’s exhalations mist in the clearing,

Whence within death’s implosion I will consume you, jeering

     Reciprocation is my polemic.

 

We, you and I, are döppelgangers endlessly attested,

Metaphorical paroxysms of mania manifested.

Avoidance is preferable, perhaps a revolution of thought?

Yet we part in blooms incandescent fire and depart

For without my shards you are entire but you are naught.

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