CYCLOPS


it’s a fragmented, jittery feeling
like my nose floats in the air
and one eye is on the ceiling
and my mouth disappears into scissors

it’s a frightening dissociation
like i’m twenty shades of green
that will not blend
and i am lost in the in between

i have become the giant that sits
one-eyed, forging weapons for kings
that free me from the Tartarus pits
as I spy the ships of Aenaes

who am i? what am i?
a jumble of coloured “said”s
a canvas of scented “would have”s
in a dreamscape that fades

© christine DINGLEY

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