Primary Thunderclap

Whispered words

in a darkened world

shatter the glass icon

in your head

earthly ghosts

circulate around

nebulous neural activity

like a bout of all-day drinking

where jagged thoughts

slice into viscera

leaving distant dreams

overwhelmed by synthetic ideology.

That moment

at the bottom of the bottle of gin

when everything is like the precarious nature

of a well-chewed pen,

and I have

kaleidoscopic

images plaited

in my mind

and my head feels

like it’s so full of unopened mail

that it makes me wonder

if there really is

a place called

vertigo.