Locked in the bubble
Disordered in stigma, afloat in carbonated herds
Not a needle to pop the process
Adrift in smokes of amber
The brain stem of my bubble is the wand from which I breathe imagination
Even when out, the dreams stay awake
Stick to and formulate the fundamental
Thoughts are always right until challenged
Swivel without a movement
The kinetics of the mindful pop with spark
Inside the bubble

The transparency of thoughts are not limited to this sphere
It may drip onto paper
Or seep into laughter
Grow alongside other bubbles of it's flock
Or pop in the array of the wand
Sound yourself as if solid
Buoyant, rising
Denser than lead, the physics of a stigma
None can see in my bubble
But a simple pop of my pencil can show the world how imagination simmers