Rhyming Galaxies. Sci Fi Iambic Rhyming Couplets

A long rhyming couplet poem about earth smashing into another planet, and the socio-political bufoonery that arises as a result of the incident. 


Rhyming Galaxies


Paul Stephanus


In the last century, during that brief time,

(assuming you read this in 20 99)

Humans scanned the seeable cosmos for clues

of beings who think and behave as we do.




Our own galaxy's shaped like a flattened disk platter:

littered with stars and spun with a batter

of bright gold and yellow, a bespeckled

twist of steaming heat, freckled

with homely solar systems--about two to the power of eight bil or so--

which is just about average, as far as galaxies go.


Each star, like each man,

is scattered upon the spectrum of a life-span:

Ranging from the youthful glow of a yellow sun

to the senile black hole who'll speak to no one,

the limping white dwarf, shrunken with age,

or the pale glow of a neutron

who, after years with his boots on,

has released his feet and called it a day.


We sent out sound in cold bunched up waves

towards suns that are light years and light years away.

We expected in response some happy alien chatter,

what actually occurred was quite another matter.


The way Solar systems speed through galaxies, 'twas no surprise

When two of these systems thought it was time to collide.

Our Sun and another

fused together, and slowed to an agreeable spin,

and thus did our dual Solar System begin.

Much destruction and restructuring altered the space

defined by the gravity of two Sun's displaced

by the chaotic, unexpected collision,

but right now, dear reader, I'll make the decision

to hold back the details of our refurbished space

and focus my story upon the place

where your mind's most engaged

(if this were in a book you'd now turn the page).


Now, as you'll know, Earth ain't the same

since it joined tight with Romeo (after considerable pain).

The two now are indistinguishable, they define each other,

like the golden haired youth and his much hated twin brother:

Romeo and the Earth,

Mercutio and the Moon,

The star-crossed lovers,

the romance of rock balloons.


When the people of Romeo first joined, arrived

(or when we arrived into them, it depends from which side

you look at it). We tried,

we tried to communicate, we tried to make friends,

but for every sense that we had, they had about ten.

Of the 42 unfathomable senses they possessed,

and the 5 and a half of ours,

the only sense we shared was the ability to see the stars.


Our first contact

consisted of a large army

posed behind a paper contract--

'twas writ in English and held in the hand

of a man who in name rules a place called England.

The King, much trained in these symbolic rites,

solemnly offers to his guests in plain sight,

the contract, affirming that earth is not to give

and that the aliens can stay on only if they live

on their half of the fused planet-pair, clearly defined

by the vast mountains raised by the impact—a line

right down the centre where the two planets are conjoined,

North America, and South, lost down in Romeo's groin.


The absurdity of this scene to the Romeomen,

can be described by an extended metaphor, and if you'll allow me to then

I’ll tell the tale of a retard, who, not in jest,

challenged the well-rounded genius to chess.

The genius finding this so happy and cute

thought to himself "well, gosh-darnit and shoot!

This idiot's got some attitude, despite his brains being small.

Well! I'm gonna play him and lose, I won't try at all!"


So the retard won the game

just as the genius had ordained,

but the consequence was far more than he'd ever forseen.

(Beware now, gentle reader, the following account is obscene)

The retard, drunk on his confidence, now much more than before,

with his retarded mass slammed the genius to floor

in a fury of supremacy,

spurred by grand victory.

He bit the genius and kicked him, taunted him and tasted blood.

The retard’s pent up anguish came out in a flood

and spilt over the genius and stained his rich clothes.

Drowned in the syrup of existence, the genius died in painful throes.


The retard, of course, was taken away,

and you'll see how this fable resembles the events of the day,

and the days thereafter, following Earth's contractual ultimatum.

I'll run you through the full-colored scene, near verbatim:


The Romeomen, in their particular way,

expressed their consent to the contract for play:

They made it quite known that the terms met approval,

whereupon the human entourage faced removal

from the Romeomen's section, as the contract did decide.

The Earthlings crossed the mountains back to their side.




Back on earth in bold counsels human confidence grew--

"They destroyed half our world, and all that we do

is to offer them peace and forget all our dead!

I say off with their ugly, hardly distinguishable heads!"


Voices of reason were hurriedly hushed.

Petitions and rallies and contenders were pushed

from legitimacy with strong propaganda.

The warrior-humans began to stand up.


A vast army was gathered from the hemisphere that remained,

They marched over the mountains, reciting chants of disdain

for the murdering, horrific, alien horde

that hurled towards Earth, and into it bored.

The army perched upon the great divide

While Russian nukes flew to the alien's side.

Not at all a trained or tactical attack,

just an onslaught of nukes to proliferate in black

smoke those horrible, murderous, alien fiends

who dared crash into Earth and then try to make friends.


As the smoke cleared o'er the alien land

a glooming peace ensued, while the human army stands

on the height of the jagged mountains, awaiting.

In hushed tones we hear the admirable generals debating

whether to descend in full force all the machines all at once,

or take a more reserved approach, and patiently crunch

the remnants of this doomed other race,

whose planet came uninvited from space.




For the five and a half senses that humans have, you

know that the Romeomen have forty-two.


These include: the ability to turn time to dust;

the propensity to notice what

will happen exactly as it will;

the knack to rationalize space into a digestible pill

so that the universe roams 'round inside of them

as they breath the dusty atmosphere of time; then

they make a spaceship a tea-cup through the power of thought;

with a mental gesture they send ideas like a flock

of closely knit birds, or a thick swarm of locusts,

to the mind of a companion; never does distrust

restrict the free flow of their souls.

They exist at the centre and at once at all poles.

They sing and speak in tones never heard by earth-animal ear,

they are seen only as they wish to appear.

They control the evolution of their very cells,

so that their bodies morph, and with this seeming spell

They fulfill any need or desire,

Any corporeal change they may require:

an extra appendage, or some special organ,

that finds its immediate origin

in the quick evolution of their body’s structure.

To us this looks like chaos, to them a mustering

up of adaptation to match the spacetime at hand,

which was at the moment a man-made army ready standing

on the rocky peaks that divide the two spheres:


The Humans, full force, perched on that rocky range,

dreaming of nothing but malicious carnage.


Slowly, the black smoke billowed up through

the thin atmosphere of Romeo, and through

the millions of grotesque gas-masks worn

by the human army. The men were torn

between the want to proclaim victory, or to double check the dead,

but a single soldier’s voice lets loose above their heads:

A maniacal scream straight from the bloody heart,

and soon thereafter the other soldiers start

to release their passion, fear and stored up pain,

till the whole army bursts into refrain

upon refrain of diaphragm full outbursts,

artillery retorts, and spurts

of fire from their flame throwers,

spittle from their lips,

staccato backlash from machine guns,

and from their faces they strip

the monstrously angled gas masks

and toss them to the ground,

to breath the smoke of victory

and let their hand guns sound

into the deep recess below the rise

upon which they formed a line

that stretched miles into the distance:

the vertebrae upon these married planets' shared spine.


"Order, formation, load up and march!"

and so they descend down into the parched

land, senses still stifled with a lingering mist,

they stumbled down the mountain side, fists

gripped tight round their weaponry,

their trigger fingers itching,

the hill side crepitates with their descent as their feet are fishing

for a foot hold upon these quickly crumbling hills…

and soon the jagged mountainside is filled

with bodies flailing,

bombs exploding,

armored bodies rolling

at high speeds, capsizing all those still standing:

Here's a picture of the human's march on Romeo, demanding

retribution, handing out their reprimand,

with a torrent of rolling army men,

bullets swarming from their hands,

into each other,  into the sky,

into the world below, round-after-round haphazardly fly.


And Eventually the million strong brute force,

culled noticeably in their number,

cease their graceful descent, and arise quite injured and be-wondered.

Surprise residing 'pon their freshly battered faces,

they hear a cry through a megaphone "All soldiers to their places!"


And so lines of men were made

With many a shattered torso and broken leg,

but the morale still lingered on--

"We'll exterminate a race today!"

This became their battle song.

The phalanx advanced in ordered limps

Towards the purple planet's haze,

Yes, the power happy rows of pawns

Stumbled onwards in a daze.


"Good", Thought the general, standing admirably upon the peak,

"This young force of fools will sneak

up upon the remnants of this unfortunate race,

we'll plant a gallant flag upon the western pole and take this horrid place.

We'll suck the uranium from the atmosphere

and burn the unseemly dead

and build an empire new

atop the deads' unhappy stead."


The rest is the history we know so well,

the Romeo-men did soon dispel

the illusion of our superior selves

and from this history I'll restrain to delve,

and instead take us straight

to where we find ourselves of late:


And here we are, (20 99)

and relative peace ensued in time

between the first contact and now.

We all fell into our niches and that's how

a symbiotic friendship flowered.

And for this happy betrothement a dower

of no more than a few dead soldiers,

some harsh words,

some smouldering cadavers,

and the subsequent carrion birds.

The dower was bought and hasn't since sold,

Our integrity's held and continues to hold.



Just to jog your memory:


When Romeo and Earth nudged into one another

Romeo's "Tongue-unpronounceable" capital shouldered up and smothered

half of London with a resultant range of molten peaks,

and across the range's width (about 4,000 feet deep)

lay "Tongue-unpronounceable" (also lain in half destruction)

the two cities side by side, split only by the obstruction

of the range that divides the worlds in two.

While the humans marched over the top of the range,

the Romeomen went through:

A cylindrical tunnel dug through the obsidian stone

that could be cut by no human tools ever known.

But the Romeomen, used ropes of their own DNA

to explore the Obsidian and find the way

of least resistance through the mountain core,

and in the span of a standard human breath, the floor

of London lay beneath their feet.

With this emergence through the mountain: a rebirth, a meeting

of the dim past and now.

And a meeting between you dear reader and the story of how

I, a child of a human born

was adopted by the planet of Romeo and sworn

into a lifestyle no man's ever known.

(see, the Romeos are dubious, still, of flesh and bone.

But I gained their trust, and from this position I tell:

And there's a lesson dear reader, so please, listen well...)


The men that marched against Romeo soon had their souls plundered

from their bodies and their once massive numbers

were culled down to a single soldier gazing up into the specter

of a wispy purple mist, that circled round his head and reflected

all his memories and thoughts and his species' collective sin.

The wispy purple mist circled swifter 'round him and did slowly begin

to speak to the soldier’s senses In a few Infinite voices:

This man's current situation left him few choices,

And the one which he chose was to recoil cowardly to the ground,

whereupon his whole body was overcome by the sounds

emanating from the purple wisp circumnavigating his head.

The haze entered through his sensory holes and eventually sped

Into his heart, where it spread via quick adrenaline-fueled circulation

To the antipodes of his soul. These purple voices sung the sum of all creation—

Which the Romeomen, being the trained mediums they are,

Learned to harness, with a profound effect, from any planet ‘round any star

The knowledge, experience, losses and gains

Of any life form that has consciousness the same

Flavour and form as the Romeomen’s own. And trust me:

As they unleashed this knowledge on the pathetic, dirty, disgusting

Human soldier that writhed, cringed and wept under the strain

Of the universal discourse that wracked his fragile frame,

and forced him to witness with senses he never knew he had,

he was stripped of his masculinity, and turned back into a lad.

(As the aliens fuse black and white, ocean ‘n‘ sky, and good and bad.

They fused his dualities, which make each man unique,

So once fused in this man he dissolved into oblique

Indifference, more spirit now than man.

The aliens persuaded him, through use of truth, to understand.)


He stood up through the purple haze

Wiped off his sweaty hands,

stood with a straightened spine, and with determined gaze

stared back towards the earth he’d left just the other day,

To hunt a race he knew nothing about, knew nothing about in any way.

He walked steadily across the corpses back from whence he came,

Ascended the mountains without a stumble, stood on the peak and with the same

Set of voices that a moment ago had merged inside his soul

He warned the Earthlings in a voice that reached the Eastern pole.

Every human on Earth felt a shiver down their spine

“thought I heard something” “just the wind” and then continued to dine,

or to shop, or to procreate, they just went about their day,

and oh so little did they know the Romeomen were on their way.


As I did say:


Through a systematic unwinding of their sacred DNA

The Romeomen found the quickest way

Through the miniscule, immeasurable imperfections in the crystal:

They unzipp their unique helix pair, seven sinuous strings which will

Probe through the crystal and traverse the Ranges’ massive girth,

And that’s how the Romeomen made it over to Earth.


In London first, as I mentioned, the aliens did arrive.

And to say the least their arrival was met with some surprise.


“The invisible made visible” is the only way I can describe

The happenings that started when the aliens touched Earth-side.




But I get carried away, shall I start from the start?


Let me begin with the physicists and astrologists

Who, I think, were the hardest hit through all of this.

Think about it: Here is humanity just wrapping up

The last ounce of knowledge in an airtight container:

We’ve solved most of the cosmos

And the math of the atom is digestible and plainer.

All in all, science has fully identified all the flavour

Used in the food of existence, and was ready again to savour

Life for what it is, now they were content with their equations…

But this was before impact, before Earth’s western hemisphere caved in.





The approaching galaxy was calculated in a flash

By hobby astrologists who noticed a massive

Deficiency in the laws that had worked up until then:

The galaxy was out of whack and no-one knew why or when.


Pluto was plucked from the orbit of the sun,

Saturn bloated up and was chocked by its own rings,

The solar system next door seemed to turn and run,

While the planet’s in our own seemed to randomly fling

Themselves in torrents, earth reversed its very rotation.

Things got a bit chaotic at the International Space Station.

“What the Fuck!” thought the physicist as he pounded a calculator.

Fifty rows of numbers, six hundred calculations later:

“It keeps changing, there’s no law, we’re all gonna die!”

ships fell into the Atlantic, planes plummeted from the sky.

The trade winds went helter skelter,

The governments panicked and the people built new shelters

To protect themselves from the summer that was winter

And the winter that was something else.

Dust was flung through the atmosphere and the pods

Of dolphins all fled south.

The birds ate their offspring, volcanoes spat typhoons,

The whaling ships speared the heavens with poison tipped harpoons.

Six year olds mature to puberty, the senile eat peyote and fly,

The super-models are digging pits, the jocks break down and cry,

The Australians write poetry, the French just masturbate,

The Japanese forget their makeup, the sun’s still up but it’s really late,

Greenland’s melted, ice-land explodes…


And the Chaotic flamboyance here on Earth,

Was but a microcosm of the Universe.


The Hubble Telescope Operator (my father):

This man more than any other

Was convinced of a Cosmos that would work out fine,

Built and held by the hands of the divine.

But that day when gravity lost its 9.8 perfection,

The day he saw galaxies collide

That day my father, the day that he,

felt the heat of mercury,

The Hubble Telescope Operator lost all faith in the skies.


He gauged out his eyes in a fit of disillusionment

And poured liquid mescalin down the now orbless holes.

He gathered a cult of committed followers

Which he led to a forest on the Eastern pole.

Which is just as well: see, once our planet felt impact

A title wave submerged Hawaii, and if that

Had Happened while my Father had been manning the ‘scope

Then I’d never have been here, and I hope

That you’ll deem my existence worthwhile,

As I relate my life’s deeds in my own unique style.






I grew up in a community on a deserted forest atoll

Of which my father was the leader until sickness did befall

Him and put to rest that brave man that brought us all here,

And, of course, I was successor. And just as I feared,

When the ceremony was held and my people handed me the title,

They expected me to repeat after my father and fill

My eyeless sockets with liquid mescalin.

There was only one problem, my eyes were still in,

And I had really no desire to pluck them out at all.

When I made my feelings known the elders did call

A quick meeting to discuss this alteration to the code

Which had never been spoken, but always been known.

I sat in a cave that they sealed me in tightly

And stared into the darkness and had a frightening

Vision of what these people would become without my father,

Who was there from the start, I found it harder and harder

To imagine this small kingdom, my people, ruled by myself alone,

So I walked blindly through the cave and in no time I was gone

From any place in the cave I’d known or had gone before.

I resolved to wander and die inside this cave, to surface nevermore.


I ambled, clambered, diverged, scrambled, digressed,

Climbed, gallivanted, perambulated, through tiny cracks I pressed

My body; I percolated through birth canals, drifted, forked, peregrinated,

I Slithered, sauntered, forked again, crawled, straddled, and promenaded

Through capacious chambers, mazed through serpentine cracks,

Until my body, after days (or hours) gave up: I fell upon my back.

I lay in unbleached sand that had never seen the sun,

Stared up into the darkness, and pondered over what I’d done.



My thoughts drifted back to my past, from my birth to yesterday,

The darkness before me came to life and began to play

The images I’d stored inside right before me, my ears were filled with sound:

I relived all of existence there, supine upon the ground.


My first memories were of my mother visiting me by the river,

She’d come three times a day to feed me her breasts and hand me a sliver

Of sweet juicy fruit from our equatorial isle,

She’d watch me eat and sip her milk, then gaze at me with a smile.

Then I’d be left alone again and with the river I’d play,

Then my mother would bring me warmth again towards the end of day.

For the longest time I remember this, this very spot, my mother, the river,

And even now, inside this cave, the memory makes me shiver

With delight, “the memories of a mother’s love

Turns the hardest murderer swiftly to pollen, it does

Have a force much stronger than a father’s firm hand.”

These were my thoughts as I stood up and began

To pace the cave, felt the soft sand beneath my feet,

And my memories bubbled up in time with the beat.


I was raised by the river, the heat, the forest, my surroundings,

And my mother. For my father’s founding

Feature of this community he created:

Each child’s imagination shall remain unabated

By the guidelines the community would tie on’t,

So each child was raised alone, far from it:

Far from the community, the humans, the beliefs, far from the father,

Far from language, or knowledge, accompanied by trees, comforted only by mother.


Four years I grew like this. Then my mother took me back to the tribe,

So they could discover all the things that I had stored inside.


They taught me language, and I taught them

The things I’d learnt by the river, and then

They listened, gasped in awe, said “mmm” and memorized.

I was the well of truth, I could see it in their eyes.


Four years later, at the age of eight,

Once I was convinced that all I knew was truth,

They sat me in a circle and asked for the proof.

Up until then they’d agreed with everything I’d said,

But now they demanded that I wrack my little head

For evidence, facts, things to make imagination real,

and demanded I name the emotion I began to feel.

I called it “bump-a-chunk”, describing the exchange between head and heart,

The whole community was hushed, I looked around, and then I started

To explain why my world-view was right:

It took about seven days and eight nights.


When I was finished with this discourse, the tribe nodded with approval,

Whereupon from the circle I faced immediate removal.

I was taken a distance, back to the spot where I was raised,

While they in hushed tones spoke another couple days.

Concluded and quiet, I was invited back to the circle.

They said they believed everything I had explained,

But now it was my turn to accept their views. So, with great pain

I listened to the personal beliefs of ninety-nine other humans,

Memorized them all, and without the slightest tint of prudence

Embraced the beliefs, now they’re all part of me:


I’ve a hundred stories for the creation of the stars,

A hundred for the meaning of the sea,

A hundred for the birth of humans…

All inside of me.

A hundred to explain the rustling of leaves

A hundred hypotheses for how a seed becomes a tree

A hundred single guesses on the distance to the sun

And a hundred estimates on how fast the sun is flung

Around the Earth, and just as many on the vast number of stars;

A million constellations; a hundred names for Mars.

A hundred tales relating to the birth of dirt,

A hundred spent explaing the flirtatious

nature of girls,

the playful nature of boys,

the transformation of oysters to pearls,

the origins of noise,

the eddies in a river

our fingernails, our hair,

a hundred rationales for happiness,

a hundred excuses for despair,

a hundred voices for the moon

a hundred sountracks for the sky

a hunded auguries at noon

a hundred reasons why things die

a hundred measurements for keeping track and sorting through dull time

a hundred eyes to see the world: and all these eyes are mine.

For I’ve a hundred stories for the creation of the stars,

A hundred for the meaning of the sea,

A hundred for a human’s birth,

All inside of me.




Now, back to the cave, now: fifteen years old,

Pacing, thinking, frantic, and quite cold.

I’d spent my life embracing beliefs, but there’s that one I just can’t hold:

Why would I gauge my eyes out and pour psychedelics down the hole?

What kind of freaks had my father made here upon the Eastern Pole?


I paced and thought, and paced and thought,

Myths swirling in my head.

I forgot whose ideas my mind was wrought with,

Didn’t matter anyway, for soon I would be dead.


I ceased the panting, the pacing, the thinking,

And lay back upon the sand,

My time had come, a fine way to die:

Off to a hundred different lands.




And I did. I died.

Or so I thought, for when I tried

To breath,

I could not,

for when I attempted

To sneeze,

it would stop

before it began.

I was quite tempted

to give up and allow my mind to cease

For only then I’d be convinced that I was truly deceased.


I tried, but the brain kept going

Though the heart stopped long ago,

There in that cold Equitorial cave,

The temperature fell far past zero.


Had I known anything of the Romeomen?

How could I? My education was over when

I’d absorbed the last of the tribe’s falsely proven fancies

That my father happily embraced, to keep the hundred-strong populace prancing

Along with their daily lives,

Eating bananas and smoking leaves,

He never thought I’d leave the Isle,

Why would I need to? At least not while

I was contained within the safe environs

Of a sea-swept atoll of coconut islands?

But despite his intentions, his ideas or good will

My mind rebelled against fate and did what most minds will.

Minds. They don’t give a damn ‘bout rhyme, reason or “why?”,

They’re opportunists, who see the chance, take the risk, and fly.




My mind went far-mega-far, who knows what my body did,

Lying in that cave under thick ground you’d have to dig

For about five days through rock to find the place I lay.

Yep, my body stayed behind, and my wispy mind flew for days far away.


It passed over my tribe, visited father’s cold corpse,

It circled the atolls, but got bored of that of course.

It ventured, eventually, across the sea,

Not even ever stopping once to pee.

Ah! The many benefits of being only a mind

Without the burden of a body, I was beginning to find

Were more than I could calculate or number.

For instance: I never felt hungry, nor had the need to slumber;

I was energetic without starches, fit without protein,

Always rested without resting, oh! my mind careened

Free of that body, round the globe again and again

At about 100 Kilometres Per Hour times 2 to the power of 10.

I skimmed off the ridge of the atmosphere,

I bounced off the sea, ricocheted off earth and stone,

Without a body the mind need not have fear

I was free, invisible and all alone.

Until. Until my venturing was cut short:

See, I was about to cross a mountain range at high speeds for sport,

When suddenly I hit a wall, or hard air, or something,

I smashed into it at full speed and, crumpling,

I backed off stunned, regaining my composure,

Eyed up my opponent and had another go for

It but was met with the same jarring retort:

The invisible wall repelled me, and cut my journey short.


“What the fuck?” thought I, as I took a look around

I scanned the length of the mountain range, and then glanced towards the ground.

The mountain range spread jagged and brown far past the horizon,

But what was underneath me is what really locked my eyes in:

A bustling of activity I’d never even imagined,

Thousands of people and strange smells, I never knew this earth had in

It such wonders and noise, complication and emotion

I was drawn towards the place with immediate devotion.


I slowly wafted towards the bustle, a city built into the mountainside,

I drifted down over the heads, and drifted down beside

The machines, the buildings, the footsteps and the chatter.

This place had all and more than that, and nothing else mattered:

I was lost and happy, oblivious, amazed.

Not one of the one hundred truths I knew could make meaning of that day.

Now I understood the smallness of my home atoll, the odd leanings of my tribe,

And at that moment my mind was worried whether my body might die.

And as that thought rushed through myself I was stopped short in my pace

By a wispy purple rush of smoke that circumnavigated my face.

It whispered things I could not understand but somehow understood,

And although the sound was raspy, the intent, it seemed, was good.

It filled me with anxiety for my body left behind,

Demanded I respect such things, and that I turn around and find

My body where I’d left it, and make the journey back to the city, as a whole,

“I’ll be here when you come back, but for now you must turn and go.”


Without really choosing, it just happened to me,

My mind took off flying back over the sea.

I rushed past the places I’d looked on with glee

They were now just a blur passing oh-so-swiftly

Beneath my quickening retreat back to the East Pole.

And before I knew it, I was back in my body, on my humble atoll.


I took a deep breath and opened my eyes,

But saw nothing but darkness, and then I realized:

Though my mind went exploring, my body stayed still

And was dormant inside that cold, sandy cave, still.




“what a rip-off”, I thought, I was tricked by that voice,

“He’s sent me back to this hell-hole without so much as a choice.

Now what are my options? I’m lost without hope.

I can’t find my way back! If I try I’ll just grope

And grope and stumble and trot

For the rest of existence and probably not

Get any closer to the outside then from where I am now!”

For I’d totally forgotten how I got there and forgotten wholly how

To get out. I was done for. This was the end.

The innumerable drops, segues and bends

of the cave all loomed infront of me,

as I stood, arms outstretched and trembling.

Although I couldn’t see a thing, I sensed

The cold network of rock arteries, densely

Packed, defiant, an innavigable neural web of stone,

Driving my own neural bundles to madness. Alone

In this cold blob of grey matter, pumping swift

Molecules of air that've never seen the sun, lifting

A lock of my hair, and dropping it again,

Arms outstretched, I did reluctantly begin.


Like a forgotten thought, or a suppressed memory

I walked through the darkness of these neural cavaties:

If this cave truly were part of Earth’s mind,

The most taboo of contemplations you’d find:


For in this neural cave through which I wandered

Was the type of place you’d find floating quodlibets on incest,

Where a slow growing stalagmite may ponder

The decollation of his neighbour. All vestments

Of moral conduct or superegoic safety devoid.

It seemed to me a pitiless, catchilating encasement

Where Good had battled Evil and was swiftly destroyed.


I knocked my head and split my skin, bruised my shins

Whilst retreating from the cackles, guffaws, hahas, and the general chagrin

I felt in that cave. And the longer I wandered, the more I became desperate,

Alongside injuries, polypnea, panic and guesswork,

I fumbled for the entrance, and my dignity smudged out,

I began to scream for help, and my wheezy shouts

Reverberated through the sinuous tunnels

And tumbled over one another. My stomach rumbled.

As if I wasn’t in the shit enough…did I have to be hungry?

It rumbled louder, as if it contained a hive of bumble bees.

I shouted again but, in defiance, the words just fell to the floor.

“Ok, I’ll gauge out my eyes for you! Just show me the door!

Hello! I’ll prod them out! Pop them out! Sneeze with my eyes open,

The force will build from my lungs and certainly force ‘em

Out onto the dust with a satisfying plop.

Hello? You can suck them out if you want. Stop

Playing! I know I ran away, okay, but it was just a game!”

I was stamping my feet in a frenzied dance…I certainly wasn’t not insane.

“BRAAAAAA!” tears streaming down my face.

“KAzlaaAA, brraaakaFAAAA!” and then I began to chase

The last shadows of clouded instinct, thumping onwards through the maze.

“UUUG…UGGGG” I moaned as ran…moaning, running through a haze

Of regret for having ever returned back to my body.

“Oh! If only I’d never left that city! Never listened to that shotty,

Unpredictable gust of purple haze, I’d be free!

Gliding over the vast and shimmering sea!

And I’d find a way over those mountains and explore that other land.

But now it’s all lost! I’m ruined! I was duped! I’m not a man,

But a pathetic rag doll to be tossed around and played with by forces

with deep wisdom and a furious manner, who set the courses

that ordinary people have to live by and suffer. Just for sport! For sport!

Make my choices and convince me their my own? You distort

Reality for innocent little chaps like me who just want to live in peace!

I had everything! And I’ve lost it all! I was fully rebuilt only to again fall to pieces!

Help me! Get me out! I said I’ll do anything! Pop out my bloody eyes!”


And I was too busy screaming to properly realize

That my skin began to crinkle like dry leaves in places,

Only to flatten out again, and those horrid faces

I was making, while shouting out my desperate pleas, began

To distort and misshape in the midst of a heart-felt sentence,

My mouth was being manipulated and now I did certainly sense

Some other presence wisping around my skin and inside my mouth,

It crawled inside my shirt and continued on south.

“Hey get out!” groping frantically at my crotch

but that seemed only to scotch

the spectre, not kill it, for then it increased its efforts eight-fold:

my skin crinkling like parchment, my mouth disowned, and the presence now became quite bold

in my nether-regions, whipping violently this way and that in my pants.

“That enough!” I implored, half weeping, “please keep your ghastly distance!”

I was being shaken like a cockroach picked up by a typhoon:

The force was inside me and around me, and I felt that soon,

If the monster didn’t cease, I’d hold my breath in order to die.

And as I began that process the molestation stopped suddenly.


My body fell to the sand, I took a deep breath,

The air around me was quiet, and I hadn’t yet met death.

I was relieved for a moment, and then I remembered where I was:

My soul leapt back into sorrow, the way my damned soul does.

I said “help me, help ME! HELP ME! I’ll cut out my eyes!”

“Then do it!” said my own mouth…(you must think this is all lies

dear reader: my own mouth speaking back to me,

bodiless minds flying over the sea,

aliens made of purple mist

planets colliding in a fit

of universal dis-concordance.

An atoll ridden tribe

With an ordinance

Requiring a boy to cut out his eyes.

British monarchs handing out ultimatums,

But I swear this is the truth, 100 percent, near verbatim)

So I said “I’ll cut out my eyes! Help me, help me, help”

And my own mouth replied “Then do it! and stop yelping

Like a castrated puppy whose lost his poor balls”

“why are you here?” I replied “Why? I’m here cause you called.

I’m the mist you met in the city, who compelled you return

To this cave so your mind and body could journey

Together, back to the city, and get some real work done.

But before we begin, we must move upwards towards the sun.

Now I can do it without you, but your stuck without me,

So gauge out your eyes and we’ll work harmoniously.”

“What?” “gauge them out!” “why?” “you said you would.”

“It was in a fit of emotion, you know you should

never listen to an adolescent in fits of pubescent angst,

and besides, why do you care about me at all, now be frank.”

“You’re a human,” replied my possessed mouth, “and yet

you flew free from your body as we do, and set

out on a flight across the globe to visit great London town,

you’re special, but not much use without your body so I sent you around

to return to the cave, and now here we are.

So now gauge out these eyes, we don’t have too far to the entrance,

About a day or so! Well get chopping or popping please, you’re the quintessence

Of slow!” Okay, I thought, this it. By the river I’d learnt a few founding truths,

And one was always say ‘yes’, no matter if there is proof,

Strong proof that ‘no’ would better suit,

Say yes and life flows smoothely, and simpler to boot.


I took a deep breath and held deeply in,

“alrighty,” I said to the wisp “guess you win.”

I fumbled my hands along the roof, void of sight,

For a sharpened stalagtite that might just work right.

My fingers wrapped ‘round a suitable spear,

And as grim confrimation I heard deep inside my ear:

“Oooh, that one’s nice, sharpened and dewy!”

I ran the tip under my fingers and truly

This was a fine chunk of cold ancient stone.

I tore it right off at the root with a groan.

Then racing the tip of the stone up to my eye,

I let the needle slide in as I let out a sigh.

Teeth clenched, toes curled, muscles taut and tight,

“Bet this is ‘aint quite how you thought you’d be spendin the night!”

Viscous liquid trickled down my cheek,

Ran along my lips, inside my mouth and deep

Into my lungs as I pulled in short and shivering breaths,

“Now pull it out, feel the friction, this part is just the best.”

I was far too shocked and really far too filled with pain to speak,

To retort and call that wispy mist a ‘sick sadistic freak’.

Really! Using my own mouth to narrate upon the gauging of my eyes—

At any rate, I took his heed, pulled out the stone and cried.

Torrents of brain and eye pulp, blood, pus, liquid black and red,

All gathered in my open wound and down my face it spread.

From darknes to darkness I had plunged.

I slipped the stone into my other eye, and soon that one was done.

Yes, I swiftly skewered the wriggling eye, and the wispy mist had won.


“Happy?” “What’s that?” “Are you happy?” “’bout what?”

“I just gauged out my eyes and half my brain for you, you nut!”

“And now it’s my turn, just relax, you’ll soon have your reward.”

From that moment onwards, my life, I’ve pretty much adored.

The colors of the cave were slowly painted bright,

As the mist leaped deep inside me,

I was expelled, for good, from night.

The future loomed in codes of color in every twist within the cave.

I straightened my spine, wiped my face, and over me a wave

Of purpose, dignity, manlihood, fresh air,

Washed my body and cleaned this cave of its darkness and despair.

I walked for days just perfectly, I’d mastered the art of life,

And as I reached the entrance out of the cave, I was absolutely rife

With expectation for what the world could hold.

I was vibrant, radiant, majestic and bold.

With a straightened spine, I walked back out into the sun.

You think this story’s complete, dear reader? Ha! It hardly has begun!