Sleep Mode

As I fall asleep to the deep pulsating tones of your electronically balanced vocalizations,

I unfold like a tessellating ripple moving through my veins at terminal velocity.

Mapping my soul with a Victrola needle, imprinting my mind with your vocal signature on its trip through limbic space.

Swirling colors that fold back upon themselves, unbroken patterns, and shifting shades fill me to capacity.

In a matchbox jeep with fall-a-parts that easily replace.

Firing your carefully crafted vehicle down my heartlines.

Making my spirit your personal track to race.

Completely ignoring every flashing neon stop and warning sign.

My heart rolled out flat for you like a Winkel Tripel original.

To prying eyes worthy of seeing the topographical landscape, I become nocturnally visible.

It’s a miracle of incandescent truth and breathtaking agony.

Every painful ebb and terrified flow is captured in dazzling kaleidoscopic detail.

Each transition renews the strange hexing patterns, a sensual interplay of present-day and memory.

Remapping and replacing the shattered record of my falsely told fairy tale.

K.B. Silver