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Through a Slit in the Nuclear Blue
The exhilarating rush
of excitement approaches
in the rumbles of oncoming
death, the stochastic forecast
of tearing wings
and screeching
metal ripping in the troposphere
as our airplane lands in
the careless toss of a rampant
whirlwind—
the gleaming corona
reverberating in the stratus
of terrible thrushes
overtakes us, spiraling
us in truncated
a n d
ectopic traces of heaven—
tinfoil contortions:
cancelling the evening
and rushing it back
like
rewinding,
unwinding
video tapes
tangled in the VCR
that should play a
comfortable scene of
ergotic decorum,
a replicant fireplace,
or something else
we're accustomed to
pretending
through a slit in the nuclear blue.
poem
by
Tim Stensloff
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