Off-Axis

The mall is a cavern of hollow, bright noise,

and the escalator is a rusted, climbing tongue.

I stepped on the metal, losing my poise

as the gears ground together, ancient and hung

on a splinter of grit. The step gave a jerk,

a sudden, violent stutter in the climb.

Suddenly the horizon is doing the work

of a sinking ship, losing its sense of time.

The tops of the buildings are leaning to the right,

bleeding into the sky like a bad charcoal sketch.

I’m gripping the handrail, squeezing it tight,

waiting for the nausea and the long, slow retch

of the earth as it tries to throw me away.

Nothing is level; the floor is a trick of the eye.

I’m standing still in the middle of the day

watching the world tilt upward to swallow the sky.