You believe those dark forms
below signal rocks, your body
shredded in a churning tumble,
fragile vittles whittled down
to senseless nubbins.
At this velocity, nothing you do
will make the slightest difference
in the end. You marvel
at how little choice you actually
have: a dyed-in-the-wool
fatalist's approach.
Probably best to look away...
When you consider
you've been hurtling
through space at mind-boggling
speeds all along, depending
on your frame of reference
-- planetary, galactic, or universal --
you recognize momentum's relative.
What counts, in actual fact,
your rough grasp of astrophysics aside,
proves rather simple: force of gravity;
that, and a tendency to imagine
the worst. I know what you're thinking...
From childhood you were expected
to exercise mind over matter, as though
you could alter reality with a positive attitude,
that bright optimism gave you the power
and permission to determine the course
of history, personal or otherwise.
But that's precisely the problem.
Why do you suppose you're plummeting
through a virtual world? Those shadowy forms
rearing up at you, calling forth abject terror
while threatening your soul with hellfire
and damnation, are nothing more
than projections, a lifetime's worth
of coalesced rage and fear.
Come on now, be a dear
and turn on that million dollar charm.
Perhaps the utter brilliance beaming off
your zirconium implants will be enough
to dissolve those tenacious suckers,
by the skin of your teeth,
in the nick of time.
YOU ARE READING
Express, baggage and all...
PoetryObjects in the mirror are closer than they appear... Just when you think you've put something behind you for good, you look back and find it trails you like your very own comet's tail, lighting a path through the dark. Reading through these pages...
