A filter of eucalyptus,
enshrouds my mind and its seat,
and so I consciously let them both go.
I release them into a cultivated
abyss.
I sink into the nothing between
me, myself, and I
and there, sticky in the tree sap of eternity, is the ecstatic bliss
reserved typically for the dead,
or the insane.
At the opposite end,
of all the substances which shake me,
are these moments of sleepless repose
before I will myself to action.