Weekly Poem #199

Raised Skin

 

There’s a notion of something, moving through the darkness,

A few subtle curves in the night, rising, and falling away again.

A slow rhythm of short, muffled sounds, a twitch, a breath,

And yet, to be knowing it, is to be feeling it, the sheer intensity,

So overwhelming that your mind is entangled in a lightning storm,

Tossed, flipped, teased and manipulated in a haze of nervousness.

Reality splitting apart and scattering like static-charged hairs cut loose

And sent sailing across a current moving in all directions, an EMP blast.

You’re not speaking, you’re barely moving, but you’re caught in a maelstrom,

Not conscious, not away, locked in a far off fantasy, a phantom encounter,

Entwined in a misty embrace with the spirit of an echoing brainwave.

Perhaps they’re someone you’ve loved in real life, or imagined what it would be like,

Perhaps they’re a stranger you caught eyes with on the street, just for a moment,

Or maybe they’re an amalgam of all your thoughts and impulses, watered and oiled,

Then made flesh for the briefest moment, false yet so intoxicatingly real

And purposeful, and important, and overwhelming, and suffocating.

But on the outside, just the faint shuffles in the darkness, just the faintest murmurs.

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About Caljd
I'm a film student living in South Wales. If my entire life was essentially a film noir with everyone driving E-Type Jaguars around, wearing Italian suits and fedoras I'd be a happy man. Equally I wouldn't mind it basically being Woodstock, without the mud. I'm an insanely passionate film enthusiast and I write a fair amount of screenplays and short stories, I'm also working on 3 different writing projects that could well end up as full novels. Most of the time there's nothing I like to do better than put on a decent post-rock album, sit back and spend some quality time with Mary Jane ;)

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