Phantasmagoria

There is a burst blister on my toe,
weeping with bloodless skin
like the eye of a blind old man.
As it looks away from me,
I get the sense of vertigo
and it is now a gory crater.
Its edges whitely fall away
as the world is wincing
needles in the atmosphere,
the planet is a falling foot,
I am the bloody shoe―

There is the smell of plasma
and a red waterfall
flowing backwards up in space
through a door of skin, that is
curtained with black and stars
backstage of the universe,
and I slowly walk through
into an abundant valley
with huge arterial trees,
flocks of miscarried cherubim,
clouds smeared with lipstick―

I back away into the darkness,
running through some hospital
full of the wounded;
black horses, black pigs,
strapped in giant white beds.
I am handed a weapon,
a white-hot steel rapier.
A horse, foaming at the mouth,
shouts "This is the needle!
You are coming back to life,
be ready for the charge―"

―I come to in insanity,
look for the blister,
and with a demonic laugh
pull my entire leg like Excalibur
out of a wound in my chest.
The cherubs rise around me,
there is the sound of drums
and the movement of great engines.
With a crack of thunder
a black horse vaults the moon.