Quicksilver Jungle
A poem
The glisten of its metallic petal
and the burning of my organic retina.
The chromatic flare of unseen spectrums
and the intuition of a blacker black.
There is a color breathing so deep within
the fatal streak of light that we each seek
to hold before our very own eyes.
The vibrancy and saturation of its sight
is enough to melt their whites into froth,
enough to alchemize the pupils into points of
punctuation — man’s vision now an infinite ellipsis.
Blinded, we’ll lay there listening to the rain
fall upon the crystals, gems, and jewels of
a divine mirror in bloom, mapping its landscape
that stretches beyond the horizons of any sense or idea.
For here, there be an answer and its sharp jungles.
Here, there be the unrealities of truth.
Righteous and resplendent.
