stroking the drunken ink
for  imaginary what is that
i must have and am getting
knuckles dragging on mink
finger tips chasing wrink-
les that vanish and appear
like tomorrow and now

We are the dark sea's
laughter
in the face of the light's
cold expanse

this karmic clash
of naught
and its best mate
time's taste

confused splashing
infusion
desires gashing
an' i just smile

thisposition
\
angel of decline
/
angle of recline\
slanting
a
way

to fall a way
and you
and me

are falling
down time
that laughs

you

Small happiness
es
  i
could not grrrh
sieve

signals

or edges
to something
altogether

not Perceval
[sic] mfer
unyet

this smooth curve
and this fading
thought

guided on rails
are they throbbing
or singing

could it be both
of note
is the color

of the faces
as they watch
these races

and their endings
disguised
even submerged

races of the
meandering
breathtaking

as we follow
the filamental
structure

stuck with stars
even nebulas
tomorrow

I've been collecting photons
but not lightly
they come with a shadow
an absence

These carriers of time
but not timely
arguing amongst themselves
like spies drinking

They seek pressure
to pressure a field
of me blooming
as is my insistence

florid with atoms
of disregard and
disrepute balling
like fireflies

can you see
the crinkles
then you know
about crinkling

You can't handle it

in some insight
i see I avoid
and it's gone
hidden
in my fear
or what
supervises
the rails
i barrel down
calling myself
a thought
steering me from
knowing
what shan't i know
I am talking to my skin
and those muscles
and, really, that cord
down my back it knows
keeps me ignorant
what i need to know
to imagine i drive
spinning my
plastic wheel
closely watched
we turn i grin