Migraine

Migraine

Lava flows from a sprung trap,
ballooning into the corona.

Stars click on off on
in the peripheral vision
of hallucinations
hanging in air.

The room granulates, compacts,
diminishes to its black core,
then expands,
scatters and reassembles itself
over and over,
as if breathing.

Rudderless, I float
from this mooring,
this casket of Vesuvian heat,
this detour into the sun's cauldron.

A ghost ship hauls me up,
sails flapping, freeing the mind
as it navigates
the curve of a nightmare.

The surge of a wave rushes to shore
and gets sucked back into oblivion.
Suddenly, I am left
stranded at the tidemark.

I rise, an obsidian rock
in the cool blue air of an ice cave.