by Cole McNamara / perilpoet

On the night of Quantica
I decided to move different. 
I shifted my limbs in a way
that made me look foolish, they say. 

When Quantica ended, I didn't stop.
My limbs were like putty,
folding and molding.
My mind was like clay,
brittle and cracking. 

Once you know the way,
there is no way back.
So enjoy the journey
forward
and move—
no one is watching. 

If you like this piece, you might also enjoy:

• The Diddleyes — a Whimsy poem about a many-eyed monster stalking the nonsense nights of Misember, where invented words and occling gazes turn playful language into creeping dread.
• Bumblebee Knees — a Whimsy poem set in a forest of upside-down bumblebee knees, lemonade seas, glass turtles, and dreams spun in the dark.
• To: The Star Pretending to Be a Lamp — a Whimsy poem written as an official memo from the Department of Whimsy, reminding you your spark was never lost, only buried under “be practical.”