Only, somehow, rotating endlessly.
Tin can can-can.
A window half open.
To a featureless grey.
Expansive as a sigh.
Reverberating, thundering, between the ears.
A singing,ancient, song.
For so long,
Of so long.
Thoughts fly wildly, it was blacker than soot,
then, in meteoric contrast,
Veins on an eyeball strained to capture.
Immediate physical static.
Is that it?
BANG! No sound.
An emptiness of missing.
Spirit, so fierce, I see in me.
With so much pleasure connecting.
Reeling in pulsing, photonic, information.
Kat Robertson September 2016