Propioception defines the limits of identity of form, the sense borders of touch
Breezes and temperatures alternate in caressing the textures of the sensual envelope

Particles of universe playfully distort tri-dimensional spaces within tongue and nose
As flavors and aromas add to the interpretation of being contained in apparition

But today I just recline on stone palaces of forever love, everything reclines in soul
Still within, as the every morning miracle of things comes on stage, still I remain

Times are all together melting in a Dali clock, frozen in a total instant
Consciousness is just there, not even aware of itself, suspended bedazzled

Wafting, drifting like a leaf in some remote autumn, paralyzed yet in endless motion
Unfolding in absolute changelessness, just sensing the potential of potential

Somewhere resident in kinetic archives, never ending films could be being projected
Portraying all possibilities, dreaming all dreams, achieving all realizations
Within the womb of expression, contained embryonic as a would be whim, if need be

Yet in this point of no time beyond the now, nothing forms as I recline.
Eyes passively perceiving light, like hollow bones capturing wind in the desert.

There is nothing to say, or dream, or illustrate, everything lies prostrate within
Bundled up and not, in a moment which has not yet been waiting for the unseen.

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