Interrogate me, interrogate us --

of places found, of planets lost.

We forged a path through --

the dimension of the overextended,

a wormhole past what is expected.

She was the backwards loophole

in predestined binary.

 

This world (unknown) is not

run by number crunching, no

perfect matrix devised --

free of ERROR and free of time.

We’re nature, whiplashed through a series of

starts and stops -- endless in divinity,

boundless by calculation.

 

Fragmented fractures of hot wax

seep from the illumatory candelabra --

tasteless pleasure a tease,

distractions wasting us as still as we are

stumped by never-ending questions,

stuffed into the magic box --

oh, finite definitions of a life well-lived.