Dream down into the depths of the loftiest height. There is no up, no light. Only pulse, pulsing into intrusion. Unrelenting. Rims falls into reams of gold lust that sparkles in the dark and leaves no trace except a chasm of misunderstanding and illusion. A rope of intuition dangles from a star but goes nowhere into the heart of self that means nothing. Waxing, waning and waxing again. Cycles of green turning into storms of rust pocked with fear and whipped by clods of clay. Gravity, gravity we all fall up.
Little schools of worms writhing and wiggling in the wet wonder of hydrogen bonds that mean everything to no one in particular. Tendrils of want ripped from the seams of delight. Bruised bone against indifferent mountains that win every time.
There is no love.
Only cold wind interrupted by eruptions of molten earth. Parched ancients cry silently over eons to passing clouds deaf with self-importance. Breathe breath except when suffocating safely. Leave it, just slink away. No legs required. Tag, not it.
The scent of decay swirls and permeates, the perfume of ruptured sacs whose fluid was never meant to touch the ground. But it does and there is no end to the leak that leaks across my face and drips into my ears delivering the sound of an ancient gasp. I am colonized. There is no return to where I never was, where I leave no trace. Now there is only refuge and killing. Violent peace. Sleep walking, attracted to a dream of time that flows sideways. I look forward and see the past. I look backward at the future. Gravity.