Ripple

to have someone else
and their spirit
inside you
madness is no escape
madness is the refuge of scoundrels
clouds to create dark spots to run under
clouds in memory / to waive your hands around
in some desperate search for meaning
have I learned to run
have I learned how hard I can fall
If I could
this would seem fearless
these people would not be on fire
these people wouldn't be etched
into memory
for falling
out of god's hands
into the sky
dry leaves
falling from a tree
like the consuming spark
falls molten through (like a liquid) buildings
on fire in foreign shapes
wriggle through loops where
time swallowed itself
like entropy (ripples)
we're racing toward it
peeling off dark matter / new variables
like so many parchment jackhammers
rediscovered backstage (taped under tarps)
disguised as red
balloons.