You move beyond the luxury of panic, Beyond the realm of heroic measure, To such a point where clarity is superseded, Itself a linear matter and beneath further concerns, Beyond cursing yourself for failing to heed Such self-imposed caution as had taken you this far, And a life does not flash before ones eyes As much as thoughts and images Hopscotch into consciousness Without a particular plan or pattern: The party you left early, being under strict orders To be home at such-and-such a time, Only to be greeted by your mother Who seemed genuinely surprised You would take such strictures to heart, Sundry boxes carried out of sundry workplaces Under an equally broad array of circumstances, Times you'd laid back upon the ground, Looking at the clouds as or like a child With no rationale save that it seemed like a fine thing, Any number of snippets trodding on each side of the line Separating memory and hallucination, Wondering at last how a body mostly composed of water Comes to such a pass, And then there is nothing but.