light bulbs

by Jesse S. Mitchell

Light bulbs

As I bend back and forth like light, blurred, between two points,
Broken reality as the muscles ache and the head hurts,
Fingers folded, little pops in my joints, strolling, fever pitching
Between like two lights strobing and changing,
Wishing for something solid within the blending air, oscillation, sweating.

Aviso, the temperature is changing.

The buzz is loud and waiting, sitting, humming between two sounds
Like lines waiting to be read, cannot unwrite that which is written.
Everything stop, everything stops, at my word, like closing covers on cracked open books,
Dusty, musty, gold leaf, fingerprints, dirty.
Cannot read under the smudges the dark ink
Black inky inked out spelled out spells, magic tomes, thoughts, cut outs.

Aviso, the temperature is changing.

Above me, great bee-stung heaven, sky so swollen, magnified.
Certain parts of day like all over dread, parts of the ocean boiling, heat exemplified.
The temperature is changing, raising, raising up, no reason, reason/need to leave these things to the hiding, hiding, heating, temperature heaving.
Anaconda breaching, raising with mighty flames shooting from its nostrils, deadly plumes.
But I see Quetzacoatl, Kukulkan, Kur, Golgotha, not invisible strip of red hot heat, equator. Tighten the belts.
Let’s all get eaten alive, skin and swim and scales and all

Aviso, the temperature is changing.  Melting.