Her-nobyl

Meltdown;
a new, clear disaster.
Body’s generators’ still;
production grinds to a halt.
Experts,
panicked,
try to find the energy leak’s source—
an idle machine a liability
they cannot afford.
Calmly,
prone to lie
still,
I sense the slow drain;
nadir draws near.
Like a vampire’s victim,
I’m tired, but happy;
A good time was had by all.
But wait…
what escapes—
the green fuse I was certain drove the flower—
is replaced
by an artistic power
surge of light.
For as I rest
poetry rises;
ripples first, then
wave after wave
rushing in unbidden
hidden
from outer eyes.
My nature
it seems
abhors the vacuum
left by my receding dreams.
I rise.
I write.
I’ll finish the rest later.

May 26, 2012
Salt Lake City

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