Coherent, cogent clarity.
This plain, slippery panacea slides
smoothly through my skin,
tugs briefly on the adipose
as it passes into the muscle.
Slowly, slowly I depress the plunger.
Contrarily, the depression
of this tiny rubber tipped plastic wand injects miracles,
exquisite transformational power.
Decades of desperately grasped hope,
dozens of coated, scored,
encapsulated sparks of professed potential,
controlled releasing nothing
but side effects and disappointment.
But here in this unassuming fatty conduit
lies the entirety of existence,
the ability to unlock and unravel me most completely.
I do not expect this.
I do not fathom the world inside that is still to explode
into a glittery symphony of bright noise and stillness.
That this thin, metallic bridge that extends into me,
that pushes slowly the infused oil,
will set my mind and body alight with the coldest flame.
This oil intently greases the levers and cogs of thought,
aligning the dilapidated creaky mechanisms
stuck tight and pained for so long.
As production progresses, the jarring, clanging gears
that grind and shatter any attempt at revolution are replaced,
perception and sensation
no longer scratch and scream and stab.
My mind seems to open up,
I fling open long closed doors to untold horrors,
only to realise that the hand and heart
that wringingly sealed and recorded the contents of these rooms
is very different to those opening them.
Torturous terrors, recalled in trembling script,
frightened someone much smaller,
brutally fragile and fraught.
Light and distance bring perspective,
each room faced and cleared offers more air,
more space to exhume and examine.
The corpses of the past turn to dust.
I let them blow away.