when the conscious dichotomy
parts, in the spreading prism sky
over the justly blank emptiness... by which we
aptly dream alleviates and anchors,
opiates and sobrieties then:

the hallow numbers and figures
trapped in/within hallow tin walls
have no feeling and know no color--
murmuring steady algorhythm--
knowing no lack of cadence and:

aleatory spirals in relentless spectrum
cascade in ecstatic plasma, seething in
transformation, indecisive to eternity