The room is always blurry
The air is moist with mirage, some kind of heaven, intrigue
At window; mountains, cloud-shapes out there
But a pane of glass separating me from out there
Only solid to my fingers
If i was less dense i would fondle with its subatomic structure
And float oh so easily out there
But i would find myself wanting to go back to my green velvet bed
But now knowing, it is just the same
On the levels the confrontation of matter will end in disbelieving argument
We never have a hold on anything
Put your hand right through
Everything is everything else
Beyond every reason our senses cannot comprehend.