Floating shapes, crystal mountains,
dark rolling clouds, and needles
popping out of the ground. The noise,
like when an oxygen mask
is pressed against your face. The noise,
like the thick wall of air conditioning
while up high in a plane. The noise,
like a hole swallowing
up trees, rocks, and twisted thorns.
— — — — —
A blackened dreamscape, everything
floating, and occasional rumbles,
and bursts of lightning or the birth
of stars, the rays just barely
breaking through the clouds.
It was as if my thoughts had turned
into a series of oil paintings.
I went deep into the rolling shapes.
I was exhausted but stuck
in relentless insomnia. I dove deeper
into my mind and found
a landscape dominated
by squiggly lines that were linked
to large, pulsating orbs. A highway of neurons
communicating with each other
and in tones I couldn’t discern.
I went to the doorway of one orb,
and a hand crawled out and grabbed me.