_____________________________________
Dirty mirrors obscure reflection --
a perfect ploy for invisibility.
Lately shadows float through rooms
announcing my approach.
Even sounds are muffled memories
and music is a frequency not visited
upon the consciousness I knew.
Pain has become a visitor
not willing to leave the premises.
It has stolen my identity & form.
Sound vibrates for It & I am left for deaf --
a shadow slinking on rotted floors
watching my Pain steal my bed
& take my hungry loins as its own
as I am left with nothing -- studying
non-existence in a dirty mirror.
© Carmen M. Pursifull
_____________________________________
Warmth
frozen over by a
wind-chill factor
sheets a minus-
reading
film
difficult to penetrate.
Just when
Sun
negotiates
a partial melt
disturbances
blow another
dip
in temperature.
Those
vacillations of a
capricious Sun
have thickened
the wall of glaze.
I tread
obstacles
cautiously
tapping Energy's heat
to
assist the thaw
necessary
to conquer distances.
I'm
learning
how to swim in ice.
© Carmen M. Pursifull
_____________________________________
A steady drizzle softly pelts the skin of snow.
Lower & lower snow sinks into itself
melting into liquid having no place to go
but down.
Small comfort this warm weather.
Metamorphosed liquid wraps damp arms
around Illinois & eyes strain to pierce
the pointillism of a fogged canvas.
Words spoken become puffs of smoke by
breath's warmth clashing with a cool haze.
This is the time to stay home & part
unconscious curtains to marvel at strange
revelations as outsiders brave the drapes
of concentrated vapor.
This is the time to squelch the bane of
listlessness & awaken to sounds of bodies
bonding & flesh slap-slapping in the throes
of complete abandon. Peer intently
at skin's glistening steam rising from pores
open to cool itself. Look at tissues part
for your intense scrutiny & be amazed
at a magnificent machine in constant motion
until blood ceases its rounds & settles
with no place to go
but
down.
© Carmen M. Pursifull
________________________________
Map me a course
through the galaxy.
Show me a wormhole
I can burst through.
Display my space-freaks --
those brothers & sisters
who might surprise me
with their humanity.
Machine-press me
into a Flatland persona
scrape me/roll me
then do me origami-style into
a paper plane/geometrized --
ready to be shot through
a black hole only to splat
awareness on your face.
I've decided to play God --
alter matter by a simple trick
of the hands. I've done it
many times/changing values --
boundary conditions until
my world stood still
or spun as violently as I wished
until I heard your scream
stay checked. It could not leave.
Sound too was constained by limits
I imposed on your reality. Ah yes --
so much for cosmic chess-games.
You still manage to exist -- unaware
of my manipulation of your time & space.
But you also have an ace up your
parallel sleeve. I'm caught in a warp
of your creation -- folded into myself
22 times & it's a constant push & pull
to breathe with all this me-matter
squished into a dot upon your consciousness.
You’ve become a hard-drive
on a soft night & my soft body
& I unfold 22 times to expose you
to the fury of a blossom
bursting open to the sun.
You are my sun & I orbit around you
caught by attraction
but you don't know about the trekkies
that inhabit my universe & you don’t
seem to care.
You burn! You know I need your heat
to live/to think/plot a course
for the next incarnation.
Will you wait for my transmutation
into a creature wilder than I am
in this relatively short hiccup
I call life?
Will you hurl flames into space
hoping to lick me with your
streams of tongue?
Why wait for this incineration?
Burn me now my sun --
my virtual reality.
© Carmen M. Pursifull
