The Finger Of God


Mark Andrew Holmes

“I have ascended above the roof of heaven;

I have descended to the center of the earth.”

I have contemplated the quiet sound of blue,

And the soothing, assertive tones of green;

The rich, pompous organ music of purple

And the swift, tinkling New Age piano of yellow

Are my constant companions.

I have contemplated in endless gelid autistic silence

Photons of sunlight in their incoherent flight;

I have seen rainbows erupt from my CD player, vivid like an uppercut to the jaw.

My lover’s skin reeks like French vanilla ice cream when my fingers touch her;

Leaves tinkle like wind chimes in the breeze.

My blood tinkles and rushes in my capillaries and my veins

Like a waterfall, exhaling clouds of pellucidity into the air like gasoline vapor;

The smell of pizza I can shape like hot taffy.

LSD? What’s that?

Logic turns and twists upon itself like soft pasta shaped by invisible chefs;

I have a million emotions no one has ever experienced, let alone named.

I burst, I swell, I explode like an egg in a microwave

With the wonder of my being.

I bubble obscenely with the joy of life.

God rings my skull like a carillon;

Proportion fluctuates crazily.

I see black radio waves bathing and caressing me like a betraying lover.

Infrared is oxblood; above the visible light band is pale yellow, then blue, and at last indigo shading to black.

The entire electromagnetic spectrum is mine to command

And to obey.

Faintly, I hear galaxies dying,

And the agonized cockroach fumbling of invisible trapped souls.

My thoughts are a radiant field leaping violently out from me;

Dan Rather’s expression holds secrets only I am privy to.

How long can I keep this deliciousness from the world?

Copyright 2003 by Mark Andrew Holmes

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