Silty, brackish water spews;
wet sand gushes
amid blaring horns.

Fire behind me
fends off December
I promised I wouldn’t count;
I’ve tried I’ve tried I’ve tried
I’ve tried I swear I’ve tried.

A tree lists southward;
I can’t escape the dream
or the reality – 
no reality
but distorted strawberry reality.

Undulating spheres carry me kata
and reality folds in upon itself
to more than I have known;
colorless color, 
they cast no shadow;
soundless sound,
they sound no echo.

The distorted face bids me welcome;
it is not God
   (I asked.)

It says I have spent my existence
in a box of flattened dimension,
but I’ll adapt 
and touch the entirety of reality,
and all of space.

I have trudged 
the thick, murky muck of time – 
deep time,
gelatinous, liquid time,
no left right no right left
no ana kata kata ana up or down
upless up and downless down
and deathless death
   (pathetic clown!)

I had no choices
until the undulating escape – 
the colorless, 
shadowless
fingertip spheres.