How can I look at trees
When the trees look fake?
How can I talk to you
When I can read your face?
How can I take this breath
When my body feels unreal?
Guess I'll just fade
And see if it's all fake

a pale neurology
within
pale iron gates
painted in pallid shades
of steel, gold and myrrh.
locked within recursive delusions of grandeur
like granite, horizontal and brittle
snapping within their multiplicities
lost within blindness' entangled waves.
drowning at the cusps of its own banality:
vacant plasticity
homeomorphic sludge
betraying nothing
of the mystified real
but an idempotent of
projected projections,
of a recursively flickering reel,
an echo-chamber,
of pale
gated communities.

aether.
flesh.
bronze.
iron.
silver.
gold.
gold.
ink.
(tape)
flesh.
sili­con.
pale.
pale.
ether,
aether
    
                           (void)