fauxcroft

In the dark damp air

There was a prescience,

Almost palpable,

Thick as fog

That you could cut with a knife.

A foreboding of impedance,

Yet the Mariachi band

They played on,

There was dislocation 

In that moment

And blurry as if in a drunken

State or stopper. 

Floating on the surreal 

Like in a sleep paralysis,

Converging into light

As if unable to resist it,

Cradled by a thousand 

Memories and thoughts

Tormented by everything

We have ever been taught,

In the darkness in this damp place

That was so temporal and unreal,

Fractured in a dimensional 

Cataclysmic and congealed,

Celestial, cosmic location

Yet able to feel,

The body supine as if frozen still

Our conscious senses tell us,

Elements of this are real

And far from illusory ,

Yearning and screaming appeals,

Just where are we 

And what is happening

As everything starts to spin,

In collision with a cadanza 

Musical uprising,

Head now full of overflowing

Sounds and images,

Like an assault on the

Senses that just won’t forgive.

Then we are back 

In the dark and dampened room,

Cosseted by the fogginess 

And the breath of despair.