In this tan room cluttered with art deco mirrors
The accompanying voice, dancing like a feather, says “I heard you’re very lonely.”
This room is an endless labyrinth of rooms
turning over on themselves with no explanation
like a meat grinder of writhing bodies,
A chandelier in God’s sensorium.
My dreams are reality; painting the theatre bizarre
Mere moments separated by suspended animation
Two tiny abruptions ruling my perception.
Every bundle of absorbed organisms looking through their own viewfinder,
one no more true than the other.
Walking through walls like wading pools
I often wonder what I look like to other people
Behind every I resides the seat of sensation
stampeding in blind fear,
Trampling and suffocating the observer.
I look in the mirror and I only see darkness, an eternal abyss of black depth
There’s something there beyond the other side.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 7:49 PM UTC
In this tan room cluttered with art deco mirrors
The accompanying voice, dancing like a feather, says “I heard you’re very lonely.”
This room is an endless labyrinth of rooms
turning over on themselves with no explanation
like a meat grinder of writhing bodies,
A chandelier in God’s sensorium.
My dreams are reality; painting the theatre bizarre
Mere moments separated by suspended animation
Two tiny abruptions ruling my perception.
Every bundle of absorbed organisms looking through their own viewfinder,
one no more true than the other.
Walking through walls like wading pools
I often wonder what I look like to other people
Behind every I resides the seat of sensation
stampeding in blind fear,
Trampling and suffocating the observer.
I look in the mirror and I only see darkness, an eternal abyss of black depth
There’s something there beyond the other side.