The Royal Attention Span and the Age of Ambiguous Focus

I woke to the sound of splashing,  emotions, waves or merely vapors?  Sins frosted on the window sill and opened eyes, alive again. Light was morning and forming into light, and onto light- lit up the contorted walls and beams of fog that surrounded me. It became a moment nostalgic, nauseating, tragic as if this horrific time machine unleashed into the center of my room or into the illusions blooming inside of me. 

A pendulum of oasis from dark to flame became that strike where I began considering the spells slipping, the walls crawling, the breath and shroud  over each and every view. I considered how they'd known what I knew and how I was so obliged to admit this. How I saw sadly what I had missed; yesterday, tomorrow, the weeks and their foliage of meaningless fate, the monochrome spit of rain, the long look back into heaven, the hidden denials in "denial" and the ultimate moment as I looked through vacancy into the lucid dream of Life.

Summer now was a ghost dog and the holy wars were over. All of me hovered into the sphere with Hamlet; in companionship with death as if my known self was my only fate.

Sleeping adept as a shadow in its own basket, I took on a vicious flirtation; carousels, thoughts, games and horizons. I slid each and all into their places groggy and onto a spin through hell where they swirled and swelled into something meaningful…perhaps, but “perhaps” was where every thought burned deeper. Into something masterful, viscous and lurking, wild as the white stream of froth in the eye of my storm, lingering in morning. At the tips of each tyrant finger I possessed.

I woke and the curtains collapsed. They conjured and crawled over me, each as if to cover this day with brief interlude ….my heaven killed in a frost and digested.