cogs churn fictions of reality
idle syncopations tip and titter, they study me
she, in her Decay, sits and shifts in her geometry
simpers, taunting me
a veil of moth and mace
coalesce in convalescent ecstacy
moon cognitions shift and simmer
subsurface scattering within a world of skin
too many convex geometries, too many half dreams
so hard to recognize the light