Topsy turvy triumph,
in the upside down.
He strode through the spearmint night
with his dog keeping faithful pace;
brow-beating moments dissolve
in the stillness of absence.
No meter of fear.
No descent down the status ladder.
No wounds or throbbing history.
Just the night,
the dog and him,
those brilliant stars
of impartial moments
In this age of refracted reality
the magic pull of certain vagaries of truthiness
ensnarl, swirling flames and celestial gloom,
the state of permanent sleeplessness
hypnotized into confusion and wonder.
Not too scared, never outside your comfort zone,
a life of nothing more than sensation,
the bewitching bond of desire,
and a terrifying romantic nightmare,
conjure up worlds, present and beyond,
arresting speculations of unmitigated folly.
Lethargy and decisiveness of every single attenuated moment –
metal, bone, blood, ash,
fragments that lack context,
relentlessly empty and ugly,
long centuries of ghosts woken from their sleep.
All that you have done compressed in the ocean
of sympathetic imagination.