The mist of countless sleeps

rests in the fleeting


and still

I lay here

A cell in a concentric


imprisoned, in sediment;

myself in this breathing

window, clearing where

I, ingrained, remain

the kaleidoscope

in an eye


with the milken residue

of the bliss of the infinite

kiss of the blind.

Blink at me sky of lonely star-

dust, occlude my eye of green

tempest and drain sap

into the obsidian night

I will sit quietly


in the drowsy bloom

of a constellation

From the tail of which fall

the trails of a last light

in the space, behind the

maze where

the dark of my eye

echos out in the night

and a lonely star

tears inside the dark, outside

the world of this blink

and I, falling, fleeting

gathering in the mist;

embrace everything and nothing

in my sleepy, sleepy eyes.

To be devoid of everything,

but my nature-

it must begin

in the nakedness of an end,

I must be free.

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