()

I travel into reflections the same way they half-express themselves in my pupils & different again with one eye closed. I kiss the light with music until I develop new frequencies and She shows me what it all looks like.
The written word walks off the page and into distant canyons inside the coffee table while flying saucers float above, casting perfect-circle shadows on the landscape.
With a serious face I ask the coffee pot's Ghost why it looks so grim.