Dreamed to death. Myself and everybody else.
Too many times polished aura
of lost imagined kiss bloomed in a flower plethora
 memory. A staccato spin;
the union of past and present places and things
where staged we’ve been
in déjà vu monochrome screen
while passing out in a hurl of a migraine spiral pain
that moves veil of time eons and makes what’s real feign.
See me still marching up to crush the homeless body of love down the spiral stairs
and to surrender sleepless nights to the irritable nerves of dark fright despairs.
Déjà vu freeze writes its idiot rose compulsively “left” in an endless hyper script
that once you wore around the euphoric heart, but in a flush it turned “right” into a hidden crypt
That no one else could awake, touch, or find,
until ready to gaze with you from page to page into a falling zig-zag motion bind
that shells all habitual garments of the self letting only God to speak in its absence,
while lustrous body crosses free all mind’s lines; for now it could hear music of frozen rose silence.
One more time the future wheel turns
the same last page that burns
in jamais vu view; so well known, yet, so queer, budded from the crux of the fatal flame
You’re so awfully unhappy that you really think you are yourself to blame…


Near Death Experience and Short Term Temporal Lobe Seizure


Deja Vu

Out of Body Experience

Dostoevsky: http://www.charge.org.uk/htmlsite/dost.shtml

Pin It on Pinterest

Share This