Sometimes, when you lie there,
just about to be absorbed again
into the blue-y dark, a complementary
deep lurid orange hue beams down
upon you: parks right in your face,
and changes space: erases all
the boundary lines between your cheeks
and chest and abdomen and groin
and hands and arms and spine
and their surrounding atmosphere,
which clearly queerly strikes you
as much more – or maybe less – than air.
Quantities seem silly as you drift along
like some bright tiger lily in a pond,
around, around, beyond, beyond.
.
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