Blueprints of A- Temporal Consciousness

The white rose gathered engines of color

on the top hat bottom of a universal floor,

where even the rain began misquoting some 

desert parable, in upside down time that reminded

the Sapphires of the adamantine crucible

containing a quatrain of uncertainty, the light 

that nests in the space time curve of a skull.

Twelve neurons into the bridge,

a trapezoidal pandemonium derived manifestations 

of that weird energy of the Name.

*

A worldlike continuum, embracing silhouettes of Opalesque 

intangibles --- at the edge of the glass, began 

the way the World begins: flickering movements on the threshold 

of comprehension.  A red eyed dragonfly igniting the 

apparition of the riverbed until a blue salmon leapt 

across the surface, witnessing a thousand UFO's 

simultaneously, the moment the Sky revealed the Grizzly bear's face

at the end of Time, where the Totem pole was unfinished and full of

mysterious vines. 

*

The river rose, against the mountain like a celestial phantasm

whose rock flesh was numbered in the mathematics of Vishnu,

whispers that begat avalanches around snowflakes of Orphic descent,

the world of the afterlife whirling with revolutions of the 

resurrection, an endless repetition of purgatorial torpor 

and the sound of the babbling brook chasing the rain into a thunder 

at the edge of the top of the Ocean. 

*

a variable of indelible convective vector apostles, their 

eyelids pursed with phosphorescent cerulean curious,

paused at Zenith where the rose is balanced, a Summit of Musculature

and the Tibetan Hum, the otherworldly mouth of the Atomic

Divinity, Vishnu laughing around a convergence of primes,

the River that begins in the underworld, trout faced Gods

nursed by blue fire. 

*

In the virtual bifurcation of possibilities; the blueprints 

of the A - Temporal consciousness crafted still points of 

non local continuui.  Parable trapped the Paradox in the 

Prologue of Antedeluvian Epilogue, when just at the moment 

the river rose towards the Ceiling, Michelangelo and Vishnu

lost in the Paint, a zero gravity of contemplation and the daydreams

of nightingales.