Behind my eyes,
Trapped in my head,
is a squall of white mist made of
tiny flakes like powdery snow.
Some of them are larger and even more,
Larger still. Fat crystals enough for snow drifts
giving off such a great light -
fit enough for stars.
All this surrounded by a fortress
Of skull, tight skin and hair, on top and
all around, waves upon waves
of loose and pliable curls.
Great swaths of sun from above
Come in to me and mix in a chemistry
that is near celluloid. Behind my eyes
I make plans, lay out the thoroughfares
For alluring dreams, spy on fantastic wishes
Not yet here - yet there they are in me, outrageous
triumphs bouncing from every neuron
that can bear such a load and
Synapses dancing so feverishly that all
That remains in their wake is
utter abandonment, a kind of magic
and a great and golden fire.
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