to close my eyes and write about dreaming, that which I was, therefore an exploration it will be, that thru the expert opinion and freeform demands it is that I regret to've seen myself, a disappointing reflection of others and my amnesia as a host, I tear out my heart for those things, the warmth of the sun, sleeping thru existential soundwaves of the divine thought echoing and radiating and consuming purity of wavelength from the center of the universe, when i think that thre are endless count of alternate identical universes i bide my time in this omniverse and seek the negatives of each that we forgoe ourselves to mention of mirrors and the deepest of hearts, I mind my soul, alone as I must, but I know there are not my own, this castigating game of , a secret passage to a place I've once been, the ability to go around what is not there and the sunlight washes the mountain and the rain and river wash down it, each drop an ocean, each ocean a wall that the sand cannot cross, each time this sane and vibrant history seems to fit, when the sync of hearts all beat like an engine forward, my thoughts misplace me, there are no problems here, this place is not the resting hole of the universe, all is well, up is down and day is night, the mountains grow, the sea recedes beneath my feet and the distant-stretching shore vast and mighty pushes into the ocean, the land into the stars, the air into my mind again i respect the ancients, and as I let them guide me, even their weakest lets you kill each other like the tools as toys of a butcher's child, a game of chance, a sport of chess, what miracles come by playing both sides, to wit I mayn't watch your foolish game, for i am a reflection of myself and must blind into my own I/eyes, radiant expression, blind compulsion, sympathy for the structure of our molecules, combined within the history and thought a new faces in the storms of blood like fog and mysteries in the haze of storms while lightning washes and fire falls from the skies, to've said what you are then i dare against you, the ground moves beneth my feet, detrimental, discontiguous, where by burden met are sympathies unkown for times unsown and I stitch the night over you all to the horison as the stars spin over you are crestfallen in delight and unbridled rage without spite, have I spent the last for the first thought, and yet I open my eyes to this.