creationist

The world is shivering. Lean left. Quiver right.
Doorways lean and then straighten.
The shadows on the floor dance - yet nearly imperceptibly.
I exist myself, this natural and imposing case.
Absolute silence, absolute clarity, no spaces between the light on the hardwood floor and the sweat on my lips.
music flows out of the next room; calling to me.
Release; all of this is make believe. At least to me.
Am I the silk patchwork of a butterfly's cocoon.
Am I the teeth in the mouth of my mother.
Am I the scent of incense. - cedar.
I am all of these now; all of these are me.
As the world tacks slow, I watch myself come apart.
Not to pieces, not into tormented fragments,
but into something untouchable, limitless, astounding.
If I can look at these walls, and watch them quiver,
barely holding themselves together,
then why shouldn't also my fears quiver,
and the thoughts tucked away in my resolute chest.
All that must fall is one card, and the desperate act also falls.
Not disastrous; not hopelessly - when it falls, all is equal, and I can see what has always been just out of sight.
Truth, liberty,
sanity, peace,
life, death, wonder.




Andrew Tipton