This does not represent
any known thought
structure before
or alongside it.
For one, conditions
would have to be
replicated along all
levels—and they're not.
The color of my eyes
are known to change.
From grayer hazel
to a bluer green,
it depends on
the weather.
Outside, the howling
increases through
the droning wind
and I can only imagine
the creatures stalking
the countryside.
It will remain eternal
night now that the stars
have locked down in
the Universifreeze.
Spirit dislocators send
out tangrams featuring
lucid maleficent vibrations
tuned to geomagnetic north.
The results are a world spun
out of control in a frenzy
of lust and battle rage.
The echoes are still ringing
throughout the denizen's heads,
spread across the surface
of the earth like a tapestry
of dandelions.
Thoughts captured
by the winds of time
and tossed sporadically
across the land.
Every morning
like a parade of
gathered pigeons,
they spread upward
to blot out the blue sky,
building shadows which
shift into nervous mountains.
Across pallid and scorched
plains of bristly calcified
networks an interred
interlacing system
of geomagnetic
communications
sporadically flickered
in lustrous and pulsing
illuminations racing in
timed clockwork like
the photogenic illuminations
native to deep sea creatures.
There was never any human
presence around to see this
parade of phosphorescent
tribulations rippling across
the landscape, and the tumble
weeds which ungainly passed
over on their windblown
sojourns never seemed to
give it much notice either.
