“Auntie, think of the dimension four, can you hear me call forth?”

 

It’s 1 a.m., I’m halted by Shades,

Recurring phases that shadow my room, unfolding,

As their Heisenberg’s Uncertainty of lines drawn fade.

Betwixt what’s before me as whatever it is becoming,

Is ‘twas bechance of a dream…

 

…the clearing once torched lit obscurely now,

as even starlight seems to dim down,

and the dog tags of war remain unfound…

Where is the sanguine haze now so gray?

That has been power-hosed, erased away?

…was it blindness merely,

or a well-masked visage,

used once, now again…

To a point of itself worn sediment-thin?

Only to leave a shibboleth scar?

…faith now reduced to tar,

flies away fast to its one-way journey afar,

spreading nanometers-thin as indices of…

Another smile tossed out to the crowd?

An audience that lusts for foul?

…but that hunger for spotlight,

created yourself a singularity of a being,

to blossom into a new turning to be…

Honey-sucking fuel to once again power and

Trip-trap that time lapsed?

 

“Auntie, please simplify yourself, return to the mundane third.”

 

That Time would blissfully waste,

My colors vanquished in true blindness of me,

Oh, you laugh at how I'd take bait.

In my Déjà vu back to the beginning.

Reality I can mar, even to live in my memoir.

 

How past promises to Ego, lost in Pride.

Can be a resounding roar echoing, reviling alive.

Then let’s suppose that arrow that triggered that tipping tide -

Underwent Shock Therapy of a healing, to relapses, but ultimately belie.

Since it was only written to me, Servant of Nigh.

This writing wails wills, withheld in Wright.

Of subjects, I’d like to forget in Amnesia, so that I could arise alight.

Turning my shoulder. I a.m. in sight.

And amidst all this acclaim, I have brought mine own blight:

For I’ve fallen scare to my own shadows at night.

 

“Auntie, my alter ego, second the surface and structure the bound.”

 

Expose me to the two true faces.

Whose expanses exist in cover faster than light takes flight,

on this ground of disparate divisions

Return me to that cyclical existence so I can again

“Act Mime”

 

“Auntie, I meant me, look back to that ____ Time…”