thought i’d finally got on top of things
but then i heard about those two black
holes eating each other out in the centre
of the galaxy and all bets were off.
this is your brain. this is your brain
on fire. this is a rose, with height,
width, the whole nine yards.
imagine it! before thorns drew
blood, before subterranean
roots clawed at the sun, a
seed lonely and dreaming
in a world gone ravenous.
and my seatmate back from gatwick
drinking too fast and ranting about
area 51, his stories didn’t add up
but oh how i loved him,
at least he was dangerously alive,
his mind wasn’t owned by disney.
after the fourth bottle of claret
he told me i was beautiful,
told me the captain was a lizard.
only his fire mattered, not the
facts, not the arcane physical
laws that kept us from crashing.
Darrell Epp’s poetry has been published in over 100 magazines on 6 continents. His third collection, Sinners Dance, will be published in 2018.