. .
pinhole eyes                                                            
­    observe over your kindled lie                         
the spread of your inedible pattern
doctoring against the indelible darkness
              quilted climate of mediation   forms over your bed
wiring out your unfiltered horrors with gentle fluence
(the rental of ebb  and the menial of flow)
tapping metal   musician on the raw triggers                    
                         that fore-reign your vital psychology
the inks  the rigs  the tinkers   the shallows
the shadows  and score  that wink to us all    
from the blue night
                                    observed
              ­                                      pinhole eyes
. .
blue screen   onto the window of the night
stalked by the lonely boy            
          you widowed it all away
vagranted and volunteered away   all your daylight
gave up the tokens of family                        
schooling features and few friends
remaining ; an intelligence to pool fear
you take on the scientists
popping your dreams                                
                 to see if they spasm and scream
gutting their symmetry  blazing a ****
recovering only more symmetry
rummaging away with their simplicity
extending the corridor without sympathy
searching out the temple of it all
a deeper darker origin to answer to it all
. .
shakedown    plug right through the eyes
you were riding it for ecstatic life
made a corpse of it now
naked to the nerve   your teeth grown in
invited to savage your way out              
               venture through the gaper glass
information salvaged    wreckage retrieved
your markers picked up   the importance received
up to you/ the message :  "exist,  if you please"
. .

I found the answer in words spoken by the mute.
They throw madras but the mantras don’t debut.  
I sleep but my mind is still awake, this vibration I feel takes my spirit out of place.
This world I’m in isn’t meant to be seen, these questions I have aren’t meant for the keen.
These nights are followed by reading this one book.
I’ve imprinted its sentences to keep my mind hooked.
I’m pulled back into a world that’s fallen from grace.
Waisting words to the def keep me out of this place.
After all this one question goes unseen.
Why am I still awake in my own dream?

in the atmosphere
stratosphere
darkness that we do not fear
we find ourselves alone

where is it
that we visit
at night
this seamless ride on a stringless kite
our universe an endless flight
where time does not apply

we hit the bed and jolt awake
remember not our timeless break
a thousand years on a single snowflake
a blink in the cosmic realm