…and these beautiful tenses that flip then and now,
That close over my eyes and filter my dreams
Into little open-lid unmarked boxes
Arranged like a Braque exploration in cubism
These tenses float through thought, itching these dark corners
And flickering little sparks about.
Sensorial-wisps tingle my toes
And I close my fists a little tighter around patched memories
For brief moments then
As I stand alert, awake, and open
A vortex envelopes myself until that split second
Where I no longer have choice but instinct
…and I flip out, eyes fluttering
Glowing like a radiant being whose reached ecstasy
Who has just downloaded boundless formations
With Nag Champa floating and settling around
