A Reflex
Your eyes go white—they look backwards to see
The inside of your skull. Is it empty?
Your head caves into your neck—it's spinning,
Floating away simultaneously.
You blink, breathing little—the air's thinning.
A cold wind blows your body—then trembling—
And sweat freezes to your raw, thawing skin.
The ice will crack. Fractures are impending.
Fractal auras of scotoma sink it,
Blotching patches of sight. Shadows begin
To flash as your bones melt and drop. You've left
Yourself, so your chest clenches to open.
The soul and the self split into a cleft—
With amnesiac thoughts—and you're bereft
Of voluntary movements. You're not deft
With your hands—gestures stolen from their theft.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Added by Poetry Lover
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