on visiting the HR Giger Museum in Gruyeres, Switzerland — April 27, 2008 by Norman Olson

 

my fingers twitched
like
patterns of black shapes
in webs and layers of translucent
paint.
hours crawled up the walls like spiders.
a cute boy in a black
shirt typed
cryptic equations into a
cash register and light slipped through the
windows
like a ghost made of alpine snow.

airbrushed rivets and girders beat bound flesh with straps and snakes

I imagined the staircase
without walls, my knee hinges flexing
on rubber steps. in my scalded skull, a dizzy brain
spun
as I stumbled upward
on a flimsy staircase high above the
tourists
and the camera cobbled streets. mountains
in the distance danced
like zombie teeth
and the sun shone
like the glazed
dazed eye of a Geneva junkie
as the needle digs
again into the familiar ruin
of flesh poisoned, decaying and
torn by
terrible dreams. invisible screams
whirled in the mountain
wind.

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