Do you see the patterns on your hands, at your fingertips,
Do you read the inroads and waving curves, the patterns of the earth,
Inhabit your mind derelict relic of olden times,
Moldy pyramid standing tall with the diamond eye,
I want to see right through the sky into tomorrows yesterday
Send me readings pulsating station of infinite recreation,
Stay ready and hasten the hollowing of the following field day routine
Foray into the indestructible holiday from your fears,
Can you not hear the echoes of angels on the shoreline calling you to cast your sails
and get fast away and onward to your new road,
The beckoning becomes your reckoning while the world around you floats like hope,
and you remember an old anecdote about rabbits and turtles
While you hurtle into the horizon
Like a jet strapped steam punk interstellar traveler
Of shattering dimensions and dialectal silhouettes,
You see time as a fragmentation of moments
Passing like train cars one after another to form a blurry solid strand of light.


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