a sentient

I almost failed to remember
my obligation to see myself
withdrawing from my mental exile
in a self induced coma.

a State of the Union
Pharaoh’s Dance.

All buses are sponsored
and waiting under the bridge
away from the Eye of the Beholder
away from the Thunderstorm of Hail and Fire.

The path to the dystopian future
is laid out through the parting of mind.

(Sea of Reeds)

Don’t jest and perform miracles
while stuck in limbo
frozen in salto mortale
over abyss of self awareness.

some wrong schematics

My intentions and my goings
are on the constant opposite paths.

I thought they’ll schematically look like wings,
but they looked more like cockroach antennas,
arching back.

I thought they’ll annihilate,
when they’ll collide behind, —
lifting me up to the Celestial Spheres.

Yet, they didn’t, —
they are only dangling like a court-jester hat.

Ding-Dong.