Poem-A-Day: Day 57

Here Come the Bombs

The drugs take effect
and wrap me in their tender
god-like fingers,
melting away
drowning cinder block sadness
and the discursive
felt-tip madness
that makes me aware of my
immediate surrounding danger.
My halcyon daze
piling air upon clouds
giving weight to weightlessness
with bittersweet strangling bliss
released in twenty below gravity.

And here come the bombs,
 here come the bombs

dropping atomic, somnambulistic
dripping magic down my spine
in retribution
for my shallow winding crimes;
a flaming arrow
aromatic crime of new scents
tracking snowy footsteps
through grey matter wastelands.
Predictability is the greatest statistic
in whirlpool winter dreams,
spilling violent afterbirth
in sadist tide pools
like spools of swimming 
threaded fingers dancing on my body.

And here come the bombs,
 here come the bombs.