do you
practice this
these practices of
an actor or pen actress
twisting worlds in acrobatics of ink
even tingling inklings of eden
trickling evenings in cups to drink?

nothing is
what it seems
it hatches
leaving foot prints back to dreams

nothing itself
is what it seems
there’s no such thing
the black void of spaces are seams
or the soil for this royal blue earthen seed
within what’s within
a vertigo immersion
of infinity intricately out and in
it begins at the inevitable end
now and then intimately blend
and, ultimately, we can’t comprehend
like the distance that we send
thoughts in an instance
falling inward forever
tethered otherworldly
without mathematics or words to measure
to accurately record our mental journey

I’m sure
you’re not sure
if what you were
will be secure
in the past
if what will be gone
can ever last

I am
not defying
them and theirs

rather
I am trying
to say that there’s

no way
to erase the
breaths of air

you’ve already taken

I theorize
you’re always alive
once your eyes awaken