by Bruce McRae

The man with the visions sees
armadas among ceiling tiles.
Angelic conventions.
A minor god with a million fingers.

Either blessed or cursed,
the man suffering visions sees
skirmishes along the quantum realm.
Ciphers marching lockstep to war.
Any number of horrifying futures.

Since a child he’s heard
the voice of the fly and its long complaint.
Ballads only the unborn sing.
Sighing that’s louder than the infinite bawl.

Don’t take my word for it, ask, if you dare.
He’ll tell you he sees tomorrow today.
He sees the undead and means of dying.
He sees God shrug when suns ignite.
“I have to tell you,” he says,
taking you to one side, “I’ve read
the immeasurable sentence of your story.”


[Bruce McRae, a Canadian musician currently residing on Salt Spring Island, BC, is a multiple Pushcart nominee with over a thousand poems published internationally in magazines such as, Rattle and the North American Review. His books are The So-Called Sonnets (Silenced Press), An Unbecoming Fit Of Frenzy (Cawing Crow Press), Like As If (Pskis Porch), and Hearsay (The Poet’s Haven).]