The Jabberwock

No falling, no flight—
just drifting
in slight.

Hands touch, yet not,
thoughts lost, in sought.

I crave an end
but not this—
this taut skin of being,
This aching curve of almost-real.

Oh, tangent, oh tangent—
let me feel,
let me feel,
let me—

The edge of the void,
no end,
no drop.
An empty thought,
a breath that never releases,
gone in the wind,
which never did begin.

Oh, tangent, oh tangent—
My body bends
like mirrors cracking, fragmenting.
I shimmer—I warp—
my bones to liquid gold,
my brain to a trailing cloud.

I drift sideways,
diagonally,
slip through time’s seams.
Not forward—or backward—
just elsewhere,
Unfound.

To what end
must this continue?
To violate me of my soul.
To unsheathe fragments of nonexistence
across the cosmos.

A lone light blinks out,
and its shine
fades away,
a shade
in the dark,
a hollow in the stars,
it just goes away