Childhood Power Outage

When the power’s out, the city enjoys apocalyptic bungee-jumping,

a fun societal plummet

that’s yanked back to civilization

before hitting rock bottom. Still safe, I’m yo-yoing in homeyness off the grid

radicalizing the imagination,

shipwrecking me by an astral moss, adjacent to a basement-staircase;

I rock-climb the steps against jellyfish-thick wind.

They lead to my polygon of lifetimes

which would contextualize this one if I reach the upstairs,

so from the landscape of indecipherable details,

answers protrude.

Mid-climb,

eyeful osmosis absorbs the outdated 1920’s wallpaper of naked bar ladies,

put up prehistoric ages ago

when I was a depolarized eclipse:

a division of event’s shadows,

yet to be aligned into a birth.

Whoever wallpapered the staircase disregarded what was appropriate for children.

The real world whiplashes me with depression,

so I stand up,