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The Fine Art Of Recursion

The taste of blood,

Copper on my tongue:

Something, I knew, was wrong.

Larches like phonograph needles,

Waiting to be picked.

Inside, a drift of polka-dotted toadstools

Like a sand-dune, swallowing the sofa.

From the kitchen, the sound of breaking dishes,

Or is that just the flying lizards tuning up?

The ceiling starts to melt,

Dripping in huge pink globules to the carpet.

I have not been taking mind-altering chemicals

I remind myself, and leave,

To come in again the back way.

Nothing.

Sunlight reveals nothing, not even the highlights

I'd get from black velvet.

I stoop to pick up a pebble to toss into...whatever.

Suddenly I am shoved forcefully,

Fall headfirst into

A dust-coated room, deserted for years, or decades.

Plastic furniture-covers are yellow and brittle,

Small mounds under the dust may be mouse skeletons.

But this IS my study;

A faint trickle of sunlight through the boarded-up

Window tells me that much.

I recognize the fireplace, even the grotesque 60s sofa

I'd always intended to burn some midnight.

Behind me, the door I just came in by is

Nailed shut, hasn't been opened since whoever lived here

Moved away (but that was me!).

Kopaska-Merkel/Recursion/page 2 of 2

Let's try the front door then.

The hall, bedroom (door open), kitchen,

All dusty with neglect. The living room.

No sign of the mushrooms, the ceiling seems unmelted.

I open the front door and step out, bracing myself.

It's a cool sunny day, early fall I think,

But it's hard to tell when I see nothing but cracked

Grey glass to the horizon.

Let's try the door again.

I go back in, letting it shut behind me.

Nothing changes. There is still the dust, the

Familiar contours of couch, loveseat, and coffee table.

I go back out: still the glass.

Back in. Through the house. Rip down the boards.

Look out the windows. Out the back door.

(Damn! Cut my hand on a rusty nail.)

Glass again.

Back in. Out the front.

I feel kind of

The copper taste of blood on my tongue.

Something is wrong. Where have I been?

Can't remember anything except...

No, it's gone.

For some reason I am surprised to see the larches.

I'm a bit dizzy,

I'd better go inside and lie down....