Fantasy Surging on a Razor's Edge

when one grows tired
of being honest
with one's self
the fabric of fantasy
unfurls itself
across lamp-lit lanes

a refuge of thought
to gather every
collapsing inclination
to delve within

is it a lie
to let your sorrow soar?

or to turn a memory
into an oasis hidden
in a turbulent desert?

each movement toward
inner pain
paints a black sky
full of stars again

paints the night red
and washes me asleep

dredges the rivers awake
full of barking monkeys
swinging along vines
made of expensive soap

and drifting down
the current swiftly
presses me against
the luscious vines

feeling like a car
pulled through the wash
with the rubber brushes
pelting my sides

I emerge clean and shiny
covered in monkeys
barking loudly

I am their king
yet I am silent

the river carries me
into a dark blue
like the deepest ocean

sharks and jellyfish
fly around my head
the monkeys swat them away
barking in subterranean tones

below me I see the stars
that once lit my path above
and above me I see
cave bats sleeping

the whirling jellyfish
capture the stars' light
projecting constellations
like vibrating lanterns

I suddenly find myself
engaged in ancient myths
as the constellations
play out their battles

the illusion of time
is shattered

(but replaced
by the illusion of identity)

I extend out 5,000 miles
on a massive wave
capsizing me upright

the sea is black
but not wilting

the silence is inspiring

alone now
the earth suddenly still:

I can focus on my pain

which wields me

like a sword

keeping me up at night
on a razor's edge