(no subject)

[ketchupinator]

All the rest
-beginning, middle, & end-
is nothing
but dreams
& smoke screens.

So now we feast
on things
that will be
disgorged as
antiquities.

In my past times;
gambols with Grimalkin-
I was
feline sport
& and the portent of this
is that
sort of vain reality
based
on sensual perception
Thus external surrenders
[to] our mercy
& knowing this
is to breathe
through eyes
of glass.
& hear what the tin
ears inhale.

I, now, taste
feeling
in phantom limbs
& wooden legs
& feeling
the sun when it sounds
chords munificent
& everything under the sun
tastes good
to my eyes
& this mobility of mine
I shall share in expanse
dimensions- rooms of a house
that you've only
acquaintenced
across a way-
Before shadows devoured the abstract
Before wakefulness diffused
the sublime
& the fantasies
remain
lulled
in mist.

Sleep
in its depths
sometimes puts dreams
to sleep-
Wakefulness
is never so awake
as when to purge reveries,
dreams of waking
worse than dreams.
For in visions
we crave body authentic
& our realities
are spectical to knowledge,
skeptical of illusion
Make dunn a colour
Make mute a din
Savour stale bits
unfelt touchings
& exhalations
smell sweet
because we that live
are lithe asleep.