The Fog Surrounds Me

The voices echo                 and repeat

become static blurs and sliding

vision. From nowhere

gloved hands muffle senses

people stand behind bulletproof glass –

fists pound, faces frown

wide-mouthed protests. I don’t hear them;

I am half

gone, they are almost memories –

false figments

trying to keep me conscious

as I sink beneath sensation

to the quickening pulse

awaken

shift of sight, fracture night-light

flashes of searing white

behind the lids

at the back of the eyes

the out of tune orchestra

wraps around the neocortex

blue roots shock the sky

split the dark

gravelled roofs roll with rumbling fury

and worlds fold

Do the Trees Sway, or Do I?

My mind is everywhere

and nowhere

                              lost and wandering –

absent searches

                  for old friends

                              for places and spaces to feel

                  both empty and fulfilled.

In a narrow space, nothing space, an overflow of emotion turned

novocaine place                           

sucked down

                  into a deep marsh

weightless and heavy at the same time

as a collapsing star

                              swirls into oblivion

                  of a black hole.

                  Pools of rainbow glitter-gel

whirl sky-side

                              Catherine Wheels in the blackness

                  of space –

I let it take me

                  lights mesmerise and hypnotise

                              to slumber      

so I welcome

the dark

                  expanse.

KC Bailey is a writer/poet from the UK. Publication credits include The Ekphrastic Review, The Hellebore, Black Bough Poetry, Monkey Kettle, The Tide Rises, Black Flowers, The Failure Baler, Idle Ink, CaféLit and the BBC. Twitter: @KCBailey_Writer.

 

featured image by Enzo B on Unsplash.com