wisefool

I felt the give
as you disengaged
and disembarked. . .

In an instant,
your gaze became absolutely foreign
as you drifted off into the cold silence,
without a wave, a sign-off,
or even a glimpse of emotion. . .
just a very brief eternity
in which you faded. . . . gained distance. . and lost all communication.

I swallowed a rock and it sank to the deepest pit of my stomach.
This is life. This is real. No rewinds, mulligans, or respawns.
The damned arrow proceeds. . . and pierces. . .
merely strings of decisions and their consequences that stabilize or shatter your continuum.

Once Entangled particles now incommunicado
save that odd feeling in your gut. . .

Now just apparitions adjacent to each other. . .
Ghosts that move and hug and dance and smile. . .
Ghosts that lay with you. . . and whisper in your ear. . .
Ghosts that hold your hand and glow.

It's the moment in life when you become your superimposed self
in an instant. . . without negotiation.

You went for a coffee break, came back,
and found Schrondinger's Cat dead. . .

A tethered perspective that is vital to your reality has shifted. . .
and your groovy wave-function has collapsed; particles dispersed. . .

Without foreseeing the schism in reality. . .
Without feeling the violent jerking of your existential railroad switch. . .
your world is now inverse. . . you are now the shadow on the ground. . .
you are now
the isomer
the anti-thesis
the supersymmetrical
the sinister of dexter;
shocked when you see
your strobing reflection
as the looking glass
spins against an infinite friction.

__________________
Say hello to my frontal lobe.