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Migraine | Alicia Sometimes

after Blue, Orange, Red, 1961, Mark Rothko

Each planet moves around the sun

in curves—foreshortened circles—an ellipse

an iridescent trail saturating my skyline

this ramble of red smudging the night

this baritone of blue penetrating the edges

orange submitting and grounding everything

Rothko assembling a window into my head

Each frame an amplitude of oscillations

an imagined Moiré pattern shimmering

as the contours of each brushstroke fracture

Here—time is unravelled in many sequences

scintillations smearing my eyes for the day

subharmonic voices simmer and clamber on

In this undaunted proliferate composition

I’m searching everywhere for a balustrade

needing to calm myself and close down

resonating hues are piercing—thought

and conversations arrive in reverse order:

in the darkness nebula and comets meld

My words—barely hanging in the air

Alicia Sometimes is a writer and broadcaster. Her poems have been in Best Australian Science Writing, Best Australian Poems, Meanjin, Griffith Review and more. She is director and co-writer of the science-poetry planetarium shows, Elemental and Particle/Wave. Her 2019 TedxUQ talk was about the passion of combining art with science.

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