my finger lingers
on the trigger
safety pin
deep inside of me,
waiting to pull
a jellyfish parachute
floating me into the dust
and the dirt,
at the slight sight
of an upward curve on my lips.
in my rickety raft of uncertainty,
bobbing on the sea of momentary
tranquility;
waves of warmth
wash over me,
as i douse myself
with a liquid nitrogen
concoction of self-preservation,
steadying the swing
for a cushioned fall.
hardwired in the vaults
of my memory-bank
are big screen flashbacks
replaying scenes of endorphin
robberies,
tattered scrapbook
crime-scene photographs
and chalked off reflections
illuminating the lineup of clown masked
ghosts.
crestfallen from Goliath heights
without a stitch of pride,
still i fall
from roller-coaster summits
on groundhog,
scratched
stuck record tracks
to a heap of rubble and debris
lying
where the tower of Babel
once was seen.
my dark,
barking mad dogma
echoes whispers
in Greek
from the ink
of Hegesias and Heraclitus;
and surrenders to French truth
captured
by Voltaire and Rousseau
in safety net ceilings
cementing my plight flight
in a lifetime of all-time lows.