Interlinking pineal glands the Peripheral
Visionary and I bestrode the filament
Highways of woven light lancing
The chasm tethering luminosity to clay.
We upheld judicious discourse concerning
Many affairs and would pause, in temporal
Fashion, to regard the verity of our
Suppositions against the chthonic back-
Drop of cold rock and fissured Reason.
We died a thousand deaths to test each
Moot point and grew so discombobulated
Casting dizzy spells, we came within hairs-
Breadth of toppling off our necks but held
Our tongues during vital moments presaging
Enbrightenments when equilibrium loses non-
Sense of moral fibrosis while equivocal natures
Reassert their dependence on disconcerting certainties.
For stone is never just stone,
Darkness never mere vacuum,
Virtue never only pure
And we…
We are not real, I croon, slapping her hard across rouge cheek.
Remember that, I chorus, twisting auburn pigtails chained to my
Fist, pulling her head backwards, baring snow-white throat and
Swaying jugs, gripping with free hand her delicate chin forcing
Her lips apart in excessive pout, before, quivering with desire, I
Seal her misty mouth with a musky phallic kiss.
Only Nothing is real .
SayIhearmyselfthinkIhearmyselfsay…
like an echo
down a deep, deep well.









9 old applause
