Maybe it’s the neon markers… (a poem)

An ekphrastic poem, inspired by Yan Li’s painting Self-thinking.

Bent into shapes I can barely muster
my two halves skate along the seams
between the tracks in the spiral rug
my eyes used to trace for hours at a time
in grandma’s living room

Only everything has changed
It’s the first time I got stoned and couldn’t tell
all over again
but with spiral rugs
and neon markers

I don’t know what those piles are in the distance
but my new shapes are perfect for scooping
or pitching
before I fall into the whirlpool
in the eye of the storm

Because nothing screams stability
like a swirling mass of ocean
ready to take everything you have
in the name of hallucinogenics
on a small screen in a darkened room

while you watch the two mutant spoons
that comprise your psyche
skate along the seams
between the tracks in the spiral rug
in your grandma’s living room

(29 September 2016)

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