A heavily re-worked soliloquy.
If i look into the bulb, direct,
down the corridor of its glow, 20 seconds
& then avert my eyes, my vision switches odd
: a fractal lava lamp—lumps of colour
speckle & morph my usual world, the ghost of paint
—a crayon sketch of the mapped genome,
a daedal holograph of the entire universe,
nebulae gravid with high-res gas & heat,
cells jostling in pigmented fluids,
germs jostling in a microscope—all in my field
until vision flicks normal again after 30 seconds.
Light flashes its innards at us, to know it.
A sperm does not have the will of a child
nor does a man dance like a cell, & yet…