Waking up,
whole body sketched
on the drawing board
of The Real,
midway between
the imaginary and symbolic orders,
I see a face in the naked glass,
skin tapping against
the pane of rationality,
eyes hollowing out
what can be explained.
A closer look reveals
the figure to be a mirror-me
sending peace and greetings
from What Is To Come.

Where every nation, race,
tribe and tongue professes
one almighty faith and lives
in peace and harmony.

Staring at the reflection
of his moonlight gaze,
I follow the slopes that edge
toward the apex of being,
where every idea,
concept and theoretical notion
faces its day in the court
of critical inquiry.
Moving as a break-less train,
encumbered by the shadowy
pillars of my own fatigue,
I reach for the window,
to touch that face and grasp
something snagged
between past, present and future.
When with a grin and two-fingered
salute that splits the sphere of reason
to polar ends, the figure fades
into the realm of nothing
leaving What Remains
to satisfy
my yearning
for the comforts

of reality.

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