The Supreme Reacher was the instantaneous and the forgettable.
The Supreme Reacher could recede into the shadows of a thought, only to emerge from its triangles clean as a remembrance.
The Supreme Reacher had veins for hands and could reach across the mind like lightning.
The Supreme Reacher is not a person, place, thing, or God.
The Supreme Reacher had thighs black with feathers and shoulderblades hairy with time.
The Supreme Reacher could talk and talk for days.
Lazing on dreamt-up park benches, green in their concrete holes with algae, and become green as well.
The Supreme Reacher could lay her heart on your heart and place her lungs in your palms.
The Supreme Reacher could never be reached, but only dreamt of and felt like heavy fog on a tongue.
If ever there was a time for the Supreme Reacher, to be Supreme, this was the time, the time of limes and wicker minds, of transposition and aberration, the time of larks and loons and goons, of thugs in power suits and kings in jumpers and dreads, of revolutions gone stale in their infancy, crunchy and pale even to their cores.
The Supreme Reacher, could not be reached, but it could reach out itself with lightning hands firing up the whole earth of minds.