Escaping without a trace;
between the nether world
of self-existence
and sightless soaring puffins.
The machine is now bodiless
It's direction is as limitless
as the 750 hexagonal multifaceted
Omni-surface of the Fly's Eye.
But the commands of consciousness
are still bound by one factor: Time.
Although Ethereal, not Immortal.
This race is on!
To experience every pleasure
Unknown to subhuman mimes.
Calculated only by how far
the real world can be left behind.
How indistinguishable it can become
by coils of dream-space, packed
stuffed between the fallen penetrated
precise prick point entry and
the inner graspings of the solar self.
Darting in and out
of seething cerebral sog.
Interlocking sounds
of the frozen buzz,
emanate fiercely.
Meanwhile,
Two worlds collide.
They meet at the threshold
of a retroactive edge.
My return from sleep,
that Jungian ooze,
is triggered by a,
mundane rough doorbell;
a punctual appointment kept -
Me from unzipping secrets.
Swinging my couched legs,
I boot-slosh the remains
of my trace; without wonder
of lost time spent.
