I’m jumbled in emotions as I jump into this ocean
eschewed from the open-hearted crudity of the lovesong sung in unison by inadequate carolers of off-kilter choruses
of course, I still fit my sentiment into the sensory filters for the sake of expression
but I press upon the intangibility of my psyche’s own raw crawlspaces where I’ve jammed crates containing thumbnails
entailed with details of what I mean to be 
in a metaphysical spree of meaningless meaning
which means I mean to be as meaningful a being as any other being that has ever been or ever will be

But what will I ever be when I’ve been nothing within the past-tense of me?
I’m a dead sensor with a penchant for dreams
dreaming of anything with a beautifully contrasted balance
entangled without the fear of light-hearted politeness
I wish to bury these ideas in a treasure chest below the sandscape
and draped in the flowers found in any unguarded garden
growing without end and with scintillating petals
that fold and sway into contours too intricate for wordplay

I dream about euphoric landscapes laced in sinewy dense soundscapes
I dream of melees plagued with an air of self-awareness
and I dream of visiting the bridge where dogs jump off 
into the intimate mist of nothingness
without the loveless logic of their ancestors to pester their freefall
I dream of an all-encompassing spiral to unite a lifetime of eyes into a closely-knit city
and if I can wander through such empirical warmth, I dream of everything marked with letter of descent
intent to mention the light of all darkness
and the shadows of all bright-eyed creatures