fractal echoes

prismatic fire

a world seen through a cracked mirror,

but cracked into perfect patterns —

like the jaali at the Tomb of Akbar the Great

patterns overwrite blank spaces

this reality hates the mundane

and how can that machine be so loud?

a motorcycle rode through my brain from fifty feet away

down on a street somewhere below

there’s a switch

i can’t see it

nor can i touch it

it’s somewhere in my brain

and i can flip it

and it zaps me into a reality, still and banal

that fades into pulsing closeness and periodic sound floods

as soon as i love the mundane an instant too long