Moons on a Mushroom Cloud

Gamma rays lay
ambiguous blame,
shards of light with
in my brain
speaking through enlarged
pupils.

And if
the burning
fuselage of shrapnel caught
on my uninhabitable
thoughts

could be
recycled into
castles,

I would always
live inside them.

I would go
to battle with
those who sought to
siege it.

I would
breathe its
rising ash when
battering rams beat
down the skyline,

but I
wouldn’t let
its suffocation define me

the way
shifting colours
assigned their ire.

Mere seconds
ago, I had
an understanding of
this room and all
its makeshift
fires-

now its
choruses of
flame formulate
accordion infernos-

stretching out,
pushing down,
burning its way
around

a lone bush and
the choir soothing
its peeling skin.

Is that you,
Moses? It’s God, and
I’ve come

to
nuke your
innocence.

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2 thoughts on “Moons on a Mushroom Cloud

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