In my tent,
I create and I invent.
And in my tent,
I peel the images of my senses,
in an attempt
to reach the grounds at which
my conscious can’t extend,
to prevent my memory
from joining the potential of two extremes.
To look at the judge’s vacant seat,
Makes being at two opposites at once, real.
Zero indeed. Time leaves.
As I approach this final shade,
and when everything now feels
colorless, tasteless, odorless, mute
and all of that,
a legend alarms the shadow of night,
so just to strike my tent with light.
Imagine a subconscious in too deep.
As a divine dream rises,
to capture the universe and its deities,
a voice from far and near,
sounds as if it is coming from outside
and simultaneously from within me,
says: “Enter Ty Dream.”
I enter.
I dream.
