awe 1/28/16

awe, I cannot tell you.

these words are debris,

running for cover as aftermath.

barometric pressure went karaoke soloist

inside my body’s sense of things.

I accidentally opened a box of synesthetic crayons.

my hot brain-hands are from a 4^th dimension coloring.

I was in the dark room with the developer.

but before I had aftershock then aftereffects,

before the flood of sensory consequence,

before wonder had a frame of reference wagging me,

before amazement had the gathering place,

awe . . .

before recognition had its bones solidified,

this levitation had imaginary force-field action.

my aura spoke through me unpronounced.

I am white-hot frostbitten by circulating cosmic must.

wiggle went by so fast as waggle owns me.

I am now only aware of picking up these pieces.

the pieces of me, slain by awe,

as I am back in the fractures of time.

somewhere I am a saltlick

if you can, of your own accord,

find a sacred way to tongue me outside of time.

awe . . .