Partly written on the edge of oncoming sleep
Found myself again in a crop of stars
Reaped by own impossible hands
Light turned dense and thick
Perception gradually lost with the
Amounting ponderousness
A plunging into the deep dark within
A dark coloured of yester-memories and
Unbridled lustful fantasy
Sequences infinite in scope and breadth
And myself lost in the night-forest
A forest of speaking stars
M.M. — 28-Dec-2014
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