From he multi-verse within
I stumble into my usual discontented
Bout of sleep –
A fragment of the fourth dimension,
Trapped inside, no disguise.
In an echo of a dream –
Time, like the river Lethe,
Washes over me
And left I am here, bereft,
To float upon the river of unmindfulness
Towards the golden dome
Which glows with Synesthetic force –
A pulsating kaleidoscope of times, spaces –
Present-future-past – all at once, at last, –
Flash fast across the screen –
That is my sleeping, ever-wakeful mind.
Like shards of jagged, coloured
Glass these splinters of a scream.
Roll in upon the tides
Of sight and sound,
Of hearing touch and taste
To wet these myriad-grains
Of translucent sand.
With the rain that never dries.
Beneath the silvery moon we lie
With the man-who-never-dies….