Density
In a dream I become a butterfly.
.
Up,
and Up,
and Up I climb,
'til all the Ups turn down,
and black hole rings surround.
.
I drift amidst the molten veins,
of that weird womb of everything,
and look below the lowest peak,
and spy the mountain of my speech.
.
Wind biting.
Grating immensity.
.
Oh,
where the prose is casting shadows,
of great parables like towers,
and the idioms all sing.
.
Each word a lie of omission,
true meaning lost in translation,
still a dove hails them all
as meaning's king.
.
The writing,
illustrating entropy.
.
Oh,
the mind roses grow in meadows,
without petals like real flowers,
but their thoughts have wings.
.
Less is more with each addition,
so simple, defying dictation.
Above them I hang from a
threadbare string.
.
Knowing,
awaiting destiny.
.
Then I'm falling out of my brains,
back into my room, anchoring.
Will any believe what I speak,
of a thing even I can't now reach?
.
Down,
and Down,
and Down I fall.
'til all the Downs turn up.
Almost back, I'm bed-ward bound.
.
I wake with a sense
of Density:
.
Only dreams speak the language of the eye.
Comments (1)
Dude, I just went on a trip