effervescent chaos; sizzling
in the blackest reaches of the untapped
psyche. dreamscapes woven from
the fabric of ten quadrillion crystalline spiders
working in perfect harmony
to construct a thin coating of sound
upon all of creation.
you run your hand along a stone monolith
that looms into the sky, reaching
on and on longer
and higher than the eye can
perceive; off to stroke
the face of god.
a fine strand of hair on a blastula of
atomic pulp.
the hills around you, bathed in silvery
strands not unlike silk wisps wafting
the smell of baby powder into the
air, stretch off for miles,
slowly undulating away to meet an unseen
ocean of oily water.
the sound of a knife being dragged
across the strings of
a piano emanates from the monolith.
you gaze up into the reflective,
glistening clouds.
you are alone in this.