when your sun is too high, all that matters is how your moon is waning
and some of the far things become up close when you venture from your anesthesia
and succumb to the wayward lithium of your bright mind on a dark sea
slumming with stars so astonished that the dark is gasping for shadows
but your treasure trove is a moveable feast of ferocious puns
dipped in the quill of Time and marginally antiseptic.
you click with the void but the cure
is an actual oblivion
full of You.

and you love like a crazy thing when living out loud.