When Twilight Comes.
When twilight comes and consciousness sleeps in,
age-old echoes from prehistoric times begin to hum
Ego’s cradle-song .. first with low, dark-brown
cello tones which cause bone-marrow to tremble until
it flows, and then with high, glossy, unheard shrieks
which can only be made by angels who mean to provoke.
In time, my uneven breathing becomes transformed
into turquoise-colored waves which whip my oversensitive
psychic fortress from sobriety, and near panic.
There are no guarantees that I am ready for the
extraordinary gift that I am to be given:
a glimpse of existence in its unbelievable purity, which
is so personal that I am forced to grab onto
my earthly reality and smash the perfection
into countless, cloudy bits of mirror which rain lightly
upon my consciousness. I awaken sweaty, but not
completely empty-handed .. and I am not the person
I once had been.
In the twenty-fifth hour,
as sleeplessness concedes
to Jungian twilight,
the inviolate ticking
of the bedside clock
with sinister rhythm.
It is a requiem of
unprotected souls are
magically ushered to the
threshold of time’s end.
Clockhands melt into
surreal images of groping,
disembodied appendages which
pull me down into the
infernal swirling oblivion.
I seem to fall forever;
plummeting past floating
sandstone ruins, through
prehistoric jungles and
at last into a vast galaxy
of translucent emerald shards.
The heartbeats of innumerable
urge me to scream before
striking bottom, and I
awaken in panic: grasping
for the luminous dial
of my unwitting timepiece.