Left-off and lucid, like standing too fast forever.
Blood flushed, rising in place,
rising inverse, imperfectly still.
Gravities contest and tear a dozen different downwards
as rival physics skirmish incandescent.
We came over for the weather,
riding carousal down the coast
in caravan down the rail six-west.
Ignoring the sparks as we enter the valley, sinking
between walls of flint and arcing blight, ignoring
ozone musk so thick you could chew it.
Breakfast, coffee, cobalt and kevlar,
left in the trunk, left still and standing,
behind as we watch the sun switch
and another sky cut through and burst.
Lucid, still and standing,
caught between a dozen different downwards,
the dead minotaur