Escher StairsYou could taste the dust, the dirt of eons past andEscher Stairs by RedWombat
with subtle licks of the tongue on air
know the distance of time there, inside the world.
Echoing steps, monsters to patter and boom and come back again,
smiling and dipping and finding placement
where the stairs crawl.
Escher stairs in the space of my footsteps,
counting and connecting the rhythm of breathing,
spacing, pacing, taking the breath of my screaming.
Silent screams against the steel-ribbons,
connected, counter-accepted as able to keep me down.
On the ground, down, down, down.
Taste the cracks in the stone,
taste the mortar, taste the dust,
taste the existence of mind.
and I can run, places, where the ledges break, crumble, fall,
I can jump, central rotation of the center of the earth.
I can float, in stairscaped existence.
Path-progressive, and you'd think it would be dark, no?
You'd think there would be no light here,
and the center-place, at the dying space of fragmented ideas.