It floats, slows down, stops, retreats.

Perception staggers with the inconsistent flux of time

As mind wanders, fuzzy and numb,

And body slips into the swirling quicksand

That surrounds and usurps the senses,

Dissipating known and unknown forms.

Evoked by the bliss of vertigo

And oneiric shadows of sound,

Drooping eyelids invite this dream,

Injecting a soporific

Deep into lyrical maelstroms

That know not the stylistic Shades

Nor the thrill of the third paroxysm.

Indeed, as they say, from a haze

Emerges a buoyant subconscious,

Laboriously drawn forth by the inexplicable pleasure

Of having loosed the very fabric of being.

Intrigue, infinity, and the metaphysics of Mephistopheles,

Yes, even language and her sweetly disposed nullification

Intrinsically mesh and burn together

To create the microcosm of the blazed,

To unveil the fool and his folly.