THE INCURABLE SPELEOLOGIST
written by: Steven Fortune
My cave is waiting for me
I register the low relentless
rampage of nature’s irascible
currents on the blunt receiving end
of roof remnant whiplash
Quakes of the consequent clashes
of claustrophobic elements
quiver my intangible propensities
with the chill of fleeing mist
Nowhere for the spray to inhale
My cave awaits me
on a fasting plane
like a dinosaur hop
scotching from the meteor of infrared
or Jules Verne
piloting his own Moses
over evolutions even he could not project
Unprecedented resolution
in the self-employed environment
as told through the envoys of rose
petals pimpled with saccharine
ladybugs of dew
And the plight of the stone
roof remnants
mortal enemies of gravity
lays out the stars on a transparent tee
for the wooden spike pit to impale them
like Olympian marshmallows
It’s out there
and it’s simmering
yet I’m suddenly uncertain
as to whether or not
I want to take it off
the human stove
My soul is but a mussel
in a shell immune to meadows
What is undiscovered
is provisional infinity
for Atlantis and the unfulfilled romantics
What are undiscovered
are the embryos sequestered
for the most serendipitous of virgin births
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