imaginary weight

constants are changing as consciousness is re-arranging
the only certain thing one can know is that one knows
nothing for certain

behind a red or purple curtain
there are all the dreams left
unseen

there is a scale to weigh the imaginary weight
of every and each thing

inside sky-lined veins are scrapers
that scratch at the lining
of insides

our minds have minds of their own
which we will never know nor own.

all you can do is wash your hands
and hope that the smell goes away
or at least, eventually, fades.

unfortunately, there is no prize
for last place

yet these eyes are not a waste.

such a strange, strange taste.

chipped elegance, then- of a sudden-
our hearts beat electric!

when what has been broken is fixed
i will quit spending my life in
a realm which doesn't
exist.