vessel

if I were to look inside my sleep,

deep along the cones and rods

of my optic tracts,

I would find a semi-dark grove.

suspended, like a phantasm,

plotted by the eccentric compass

of the mind’s eye:

I see a hidden park,

with fountains and follies,

recessed beyond the weathers of conventionality,

where cognition roves

the Morphean helix of sleep.

frequencies echo there,

in this nimbus orchard,

beamed by unseen birds,

twisting through

the midnight-morning

with white-jade and Doppler polygons.

although I am aware of locomotion,

I feel no body.

for my physical weight remains behind,

in that room back there,

on the other side of the meridian,

in the bed where I still lay,

where I continue to breath

and pronounce the language of kilograms.

upon this shady lawn,

I eclipse myself.

I shift along the strand

of negative infinity,

attached to a mass of ligaments,

rendered vestigial here, in the garden of onyx euphony.

moving over to a pool of native platinum,

I gaze at the surface of the pseudo-liquid.

I see a pair of eyes looking back up at me

from the opaque, alkaloid depths.

peering closely, I recognise a face

upon the rippling mirror.

it is the face of the person who is only awake

at this hour of the night.

it is the face of the person who travels inside my mechanism,

surfing my alpha waves,

sinking into my hereafter,

awaiting exodus…