Pilgrimage

 

Pilgrimage

 

Sometimes a vision passes me by and I won’t see what comes next. I miss the interval and I am stuck, maybe chained. The discernment with reality, the electrodes are at its mass from ignoring. Yet, because I walk this ground with earth and beauty. Do I truly live? Or do I truly die? Must I walk on through sleep and dreams for eternity?

Alignment becomes that of shapes, and I turn. To where exactly do I compose? In my imagine? In my forever? Must I live through both inters? To suicide of one, and another, or bust.

Reviews

[Gabriela Rivas]

this was fancy, good sir.