the subjective sine wave waxes to a crest.
my lips betray that elusive, genuine spark—
so elusive, in fact, that my knees nearly buckle.
these willing arms are lured to a plane
where the folly of man is just as weightless
as is generic the fear of the abyss.
so let us dance to west egg’s anachronous tunes
and lock eyes, mesmerized, through clarity’s miasma,
cackling madness into our own starry reflections,
channeling orgasm at the thought of their fictions…
their vacant renditions of erroneous wishes,
and dreams of picturesque scenes
with vacant misters and misses.
temporal vines entangle and stray
but these magnetized mirror neurons are here to stay.
traversing many oceans and moons,
they will always rendezvous a nebula—
a sublime anomaly in space.