Delirium As Data-Thievery

Hidden in reference to the hologram,
we are looking at the opening waters of night.
A scenario spreads its legs, a stretch of subjectivity that
whispered of escape.

Clean wisps of an abstracted gaze, my right hand on a breast,
the rain of arrows pick themselves up from clouded memories of
some sort of background. The whereabouts of dawn are closed eyes
like leviathan.

I ricochet off white bellies
soft and gentle as passion sung into
your torn whole. Doubles, splits, swindles,
difficult and closed before threatening you with
promises of a whole other order.

Because Iam devised from thorns and women's perfume,
a new kind of dance, serpents enter and devour my frozen image.
Emotions blare from the televison, the loving embrace of
ancient ritual, looming delirium as sophisticated data-theivery.
Our cigarettes fail to confuse meaning with the rhythm of sacrifice,
fumbling across virgins in stone that began to seep from
various nodes of indigo.

Vast distances, endless photos returning us to horizons that existed
prior to perfection, no logical formation could make its way to the front
of the sea, no matter how many mirrors lined with strange trees and alien foliage
pulled the genetic trigger.