Tyco Flow

I’d found flow with nowhere to go,
so I settled in and rocked the tyco,
while the stasis field psycho
played mellotronic the sound of my youth
a sound so suddenly minor
like the reverberation of a kiss I’d missed
a kind of gliding, a lilting,
a sort of null, an empty lull
that went about gently tilting to and fro
against waves of atomic particles, most sonic

then a quiet explosion

a mirror ball to pieces shattered sublime
mixed in now amongst the spaces of this time
having traversed the vacuumed places
of dreams

not mine

but now to my screams,
I’d sensed her reaction
but nightmarish injections
led to misdirections
to missed directions
to synthetic reflections
that would float the question
“Am I alive at all?”
under the buzz and glow
of this tyco flow.

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