flights of fancy

sometimes people just need to be sucker-punched. i wish that would happen infront of me more often. where everything slows down as one man strikes another. as teeth and blood fly.

pretty spectacle spectacular.
a poem (to soften the violent mood i have arisen in you, i'm sure):

You are reaching to
a spectacular view
of the place where you
used to live.
An infinite number of arm's lengths away
and counting,
it's a forest you'll only see
in you brain again.

You are floating.
You are uncontrollable,
rolling and drifting
through long metal cottages;
ones that are flickering red
and blue and purple belts.

A baby still inside its mother
you eat and you breathe
through a tube from your belly,
and when you get tired
or sick from the spinning
you mother; she swallows you whole.

And you take off your helmet
and cut the umbilical.

No longer connected
but the only things out there.