First comes the smoke, drifting in spirals.
I've seen it delicate and dirty, 30 feet high;
Nerves fire like lights through the fog of an 80's video--
Fear strobes, anxiety hisses sparks and lasers,
but then,
then...
The tortoiseshell teases the tendrils of fog
Until it clears.
It's all light; it's all a deep breath in darkness.
Your empty streets are filled
with memories on a blood/bass pulse
and then the glass breaks, stone against time;
slow fall of clarity, slump of sand against fire.
Dark thoughts hunt idolators in the emptiness.
Clear, remembered ways are full of them.
Here the worst thoughts cower,
their yesterday masks over their fangs.
Dark thoughts feel them in their whiskers,
in their serrated fur.
Dark thoughts are hunters.
I've seen it delicate and dirty, 30 feet high;
Nerves fire like lights through the fog of an 80's video--
Fear strobes, anxiety hisses sparks and lasers,
but then,
then...
The tortoiseshell teases the tendrils of fog
Until it clears.
It's all light; it's all a deep breath in darkness.
Your empty streets are filled
with memories on a blood/bass pulse
and then the glass breaks, stone against time;
slow fall of clarity, slump of sand against fire.
Dark thoughts hunt idolators in the emptiness.
Clear, remembered ways are full of them.
Here the worst thoughts cower,
their yesterday masks over their fangs.
Dark thoughts feel them in their whiskers,
in their serrated fur.
Dark thoughts are hunters.
Welcome to the blog on another hint of fall morning in this choose-your-own-apocalypse of a year. There may be coffee later and I am about to light a candle and think about whether dreaming for several nights in a row about moving has any significance (probably not--although I might have a touch of cabin fever). Unfinished projects are starting to feel more like undead projects. It's a weird time. People are angry because I'm taking a pandemic seriously.
People...are...angry...because...I'm...taking...a...pandemic...seriously.
I think the noise is finally swamping the signal.
-- Chrissa
From the title to the last line, this is amazing and deeply thought provoking my friend. These times are full of so much uncertainty and fear. Your title nails it to the tree perfectly! I think cabin fever is another epidemic we are facing. That and our mental health is being pushed to it's brink. Always remember that you are a bright beacon of light and good vibes whenever you are around! That is the truth! 🌻🌻
ReplyDeleteInteresting poem Chrissa, you took me back to Octavia Paz
ReplyDelete"Your empty streets are filled
with memories on a blood/bass pulse"
My favourite line
Happy Sunday. Thank you for dropping by my sumie Sunday
Much❤love
The deepness of the dark you write about has seeped into the cracks, crevices, holes in our lives. This is epic, Chrissa.
ReplyDelete"Dark thoughts are hunters", indeed. And sometimes, they must be (in self-defense of the skull that houses them).
ReplyDeleteAlso, I share your bewilderment when it comes to those who criticize others for, well, having eyes and a working brain.
Empty streets engender dark thoughts for sure. No doubt it's wearing on us.
ReplyDeleteChrissa these lines had me scared, "... blood/bass pulse
ReplyDeleteand then the glass breaks, stone against time ... " Did you ever have a brick thrown through your window in the dark of night? Real scary. But I came out of bed to see, armed with a board.
I peeked around the corner to see a large picture we had hanging in the hall now on the floor. Not a safety problem, the hanger nail had given way.
All you described would not be forgotten. Good write.
..
I never Metaphor (met-a-four) I didn't like, but this is particularly fresh and fitting.
ReplyDeleteDark? You call this dark? No. This is daaaaark!!!
ReplyDeleteYUM.
The fire references got to me immediately, as we lived through our own version here last summer. And pf course I love the notion of the dark thoughts being (sinister, predatory) cats.
ReplyDeleteI wish more of us took the pandemic seriously. If only we all realised it is not going away in a hurry. It is always good to read poets work that realize how dangerous it all is.
ReplyDeleteIt's the weirdest thing.....pandemic turned political, when it is a health crisis. Sigh. Ridonkulous. Keep on staying safe. It is getting harder to do that.
ReplyDeletei really love the imagery in this poem. very surreal, yet at he same time very real. maybe it did occur on another alternate universe.
ReplyDeletethe "blood/bass pulse" sticks to me, a pulsating bass line that is hard to get away. i am listening to too much rock lately.
When I have repeated dreams of moving, its usually because I have to do or accept something I don't want to.
ReplyDeleteI like how you've conveyed this almost feral quality to the restless thoughts that are pacing and looking for a convenient scratching post (or suitable alternative) to claw up. I've tried to channel that restlessness into action and fighting the good fight. But although phone banking and the like does use up a ton of that energy, there's always enough leftover to still feel twitchy.
"The tortoiseshell teases the tendrils of fog" - love that phrasing, Chrissa! We are all dark cats right now.
ReplyDeleteYep. Dark thoughts are stealthy, they're the special ops team of thoughts.
ReplyDelete"Dark thoughts feel them in their whiskers,
ReplyDeletein their serrated fur." - excellent!