deepundergroundpoetry.com
Pictures
in every frame of reality
there draws a frame of infinity
and yet that is a product of itself
that makes it exponentially more
if the shroud of subjectivity were torn
so too would we be from
the overwhelming enormity
of the moment
which would pass our mind
we live in stacked boxes in a mailing room
marked 'return to sender'
with little holes for air and light peeping through
but we never really know where we are
until we reach the end of that journey.
there draws a frame of infinity
and yet that is a product of itself
that makes it exponentially more
if the shroud of subjectivity were torn
so too would we be from
the overwhelming enormity
of the moment
which would pass our mind
we live in stacked boxes in a mailing room
marked 'return to sender'
with little holes for air and light peeping through
but we never really know where we are
until we reach the end of that journey.
Published 3rd Feb 2013
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Anonymous
4th Feb 2013 6:24pm
A very nicely scripted poem, what is and what is not? Anything could be something, you always write a bit cryptical, like an illusion in an illusion....
13th Feb 2013 1:36am
This is my mind's product, from seeing everything in life taken to its most basic form and becoming confused and odd. I think the entire world has crypticism etched in its foundations. Apologies for the delay in response Lizard Queen, and thank you!
