I am bare and luminous,
The Tycho abyss on the moon.
A thorougher of near consciousness,
a searcher of noctilucent trails.
The everness of Borges
in the self annihilation of Kerouac.
But in the conundrum of skin cells,
I am that existential variant
that questions the direction of time and
carves the art of disdain
into cloudburst sunsets;
a near bursting expanse
of the lived and the to be lived