I was pushed into a light-scattering chandelier
as a child: the crystal prisms penetrated deep
into my breast-bone, entering the Unseen Me, 

refracting the pulsations of my spirit, & now
my entire body resembles lusters of commixtured
illuminations from every realm of the glowing

universe, where I could shake the Northern Lights
out of their ethereal radar, neutralize a pulsar star
& layer upon layer, peel back the veiled reel of the 

cosmos—revealing a terrestrial mural, an incessant
flux of the habitable Infinite (
the perfect ear
of the future),—by the mere thought of it.


I had upchucked
an algorithm where
your body was

a frictive receiver
in that very low pulse
where we had begun

to slowly dissolve
with a rattle of thunder
that could have

cracked open an oyster,
discovering that
the pearl inside

was spinning with
my Identity, spinning
where Infinity & I

were both screaming
like quarrelsome squirrels.
Miracles. A miracle.

I felt the microphone
inside of my body,
inside of my spirit,

accentuate feelings
where memory is a
functionary clock,

a visionary cluck,
shatter-out sound,
& my memories

became holograms
in front of my eyes,
floating like the final

chapter of a book
that lingers & posits
inside of the reader,

that departs in silence,
where you are now
like shadows of strangers.