wisefool

Contact is everpresent.

My mind is motile,
hovering and gliding along
predefined lines,
it rotates and pivots
to navigate a static space of sensation.

Or

My mind is static
as the particles
advance and counter-sway
around my field of feelings.

My perception of this shell
with its
colors, hues,
depth and dues,
maddens me
with its
steep, stark
bright and dark
oscillations between
a divinely beautiful and roaring ecstasy
and
a tauntingly oppressive and suffocating numbness.

This life is one great, long
edging session of erotic asphyxiation.
The danger, the anticipation, the fragility, the pleasure.

Intermittently, without fail,
I choke myself into a twilight;
synesthetic, pins and needles
anesthetic, quiver - - feeble;
immersed in a salvation-less fog.

Then, I awaken,
with a flood of blood
to
my head
my heart
and my
dastardly parts.

In a moment,
my limbics will be doused
in pool of euphoria
and my demons will be released from me
as I sink down,
down, down,
below the depths
of any awareness
into the mind
and moment
of my original being.

My mind is a pressurized tank of isolation.

__________________
Say hello to my frontal lobe.