Spectral Dancelight

I forgot to think about your face and your eyes, and what language rolls out of your laser beams shot through the fort of seams.

Didn’t clean the gloss out of your gut; I didn’t do your spirit laundry. I could barely make the sign of your hands, coldly glowing in the sunlight of a silken cobweb.
What did you think of me?

I stopped in the middle of a busy April road when it was just February, and now I am back in January, as if I have been climbing back to my cranium from the funny butterflies in my tummy.
What did you think of me when you crossed a road in the middle of a river, looked around, and found butterflies made of blueberry jam?

Do you exist in a costume I built around an icy shrine made of winter sand and slow waves by a brook outside the city’s outlines? I forgot to think about your face and your eyes, and what language rolls out of your laser beams shot through the fort of seams. Do you think about things that know they are made of all that thinking?

In the morning, I tested my feet in two Heisenberg water buckets, uncertainty measured against uncertainty. I erased the line, thinking measurements are doubts made of fire, and licked the grey mouth of mapping certainty. Certainly, I am a flame caught up in the winds of delight and delay. A flame that’s a speedhorse, it knows running as a timetable for space theatrics, circling into a spiral, forming the sun and teaching mankind what geometry is.

Do you roll your eyes when a sudden thought blows magick in your ears, like everything is about to seduce and devour you? I ate a piece of cake and swallowed myself by mistake, hidden in its three layers made of caramel, cheese, and electricity.

I am from everywhere; therefore, I am also standing behind you.