This Twisted Maze by Megan Windom
Radiant pinks
and electric blues bleed
Diffused by
the haze of the rainy night,
Lights like a
warm breath on a cold morning.
Roads and
sidewalks turned into mirrors
For the world
towering above them.
Rain drops
adhere themselves to my glasses,
They give the
dark streets a fun house effect.
The forms of
people moving around me
Become
disjointed. Large heads on normal
Bodies with
tiny legs to hold the weight.
I’ve grown
accustomed to no umbrella,
The cold
seeping down the back of my neck.
And although
my wet glasses hurt my eyes
With their
distortions, I’m clever to have
Long ago
learned to simply take them off.
Sans lenses,
all the waterlogged buildings
Turn into a
single monster, waiting
To consume me
if I take one wrong turn.
The
flickering lights seem to expand out,
Like little
lures, always promising more.
Illumination
carries suggestion.
While the
neon tubes declare their intent
With the
bends in their forms that reveal words,
It’s the
subtle ones, the fluorescent bulbs
Hidden behind
curtains, that call to me.
The glow from
behind drapes or seeping through lace
Hints to the
warmth within. I’m filled up now.
My wool
jacket fully saturated,
The twinkling
lights of this twisted maze
Only make me
think of being back home.
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