when the i of the needle began to pierce the fabric of reality, a spectrum of dreams unfolded—the metaphoric stitching, tenuous threads weaving between realms, unwelcome and warmly inviting intertwining in an ephemeral dance. did the waking world ever wake?
stars beyond orbit syncopate with unheard rhythms, melodies of yawning tinangel carrying embers with echoes of lost galaxies cosmic whispers intertwine amidst ether, chirping of dreams treading through universes devouring one another.
phantoms reside on postcard edges, invitations ignored by fingers of dust, photographs bleeding impressions of worlds colonizing spectrums, lucidity obscured by the affectionate gaze of illusion— a card in the maze slides open.
and amid these journeys, against reality's fabric depictions of hollow, remembered whispers lie printed; fragments surge, sweeping timbre like summer visiting spring happenstance, our distorted frost creation glimmers.