Fatalistic Fingerpainter

Drawing Pictures With Words

 

 

 

When I decide to open my eyes,

 

they have been clinched tight.

 

Hopes of preventing the scalding sensation of science worship and acidic rain

 

peels in rivulets down my back

 

in the waning aftermath of heat and day.

 

I see the scent of radiation and rhododendrons.

 

I smell the toxic sight of pure color.

 

it curls in tendrils to confuse the senses,

 

wound in the breath of

 

destructive beauty.

Reviews

[DevilsNeedLove2]

This feels like heat too close to my nostrils, like lighting a cigarette on the stove. That's totally meant as a compliment. When I read, I want to feel, and this poem achieved that goal.

I agree with Pax Analog - the animated image is nifty. =)

[Pax Analog]

Intriguing synaesthetic meltdown!

Dig the animated image at the top too.

This poem also makes me think of certain spirit adepts' assertions that we perceive and navigate in consensus world by the same hallucinatory apparatus in effect during more "idiosyncratic" experiences.

I hear the touch of more phantasmagoria!