Condensate

My particles buzz

In vibrations.

I’m trying to keep myself a solid,

But I’m slipping down to absolute zero.

My structure is hapless within

My leather jacket,

And this crystal necklace isn’t chain-linked.

 

Molecules are dissolving into my pores

The frays of my jean cuffs

Have coalesced into the split ends of my hair

Maybe that’s why people keep noticing

The streak of orange in midst of blue;

I was painting today.

 

In art class,

Bob Ross is projected onto the screen,

Tour guide through the landscapes.

We drift along the reflections of orange and blue sunsets,

Ripple free,

But this lake is colder than the forecast,

And my shivering melts to waves.

 

Jean cuffs, leather jacket, crystal pendant,

My necklace entangles into the lace of my shirt,

And my hair,

Submerged in the water,

Is swelling into tentacles so I can survive the frothy crash,

My limbs churned in rolls I’m not sure are mine.

 

Somehow the converse I slipped into the creek with

Two months ago

Have landed by my shoulders,

And my pockets are tessellating into the painting,

My palette has merged into hues

I’ve never seen on any color wheel.

 

The particles call themselves impressionism

Because they don’t remember how to build a reality.

 

Laser cooling has pierced through the atoms,

But past that is a mesh of jade earrings I never take off and

A beauty mark hidden by the fold of a smile.

These eyebags are as much a part of me now as

My left ankle’s surgical scar.

 

The molecules have jumbled into what

Bose said could be a wonderland,

But when a garden is this scrambled,

The key only fits one out of a million times.

 

Bose and Einstein predicted a new state of matter,

But it’s been lurking for a while now.

 

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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