My finer reality

this dismembered vision
held on to rough edges
not something seen
felt
originated in sleepless
head drooping nights
of finer reality
driving me mad
or into madness
or into a realization
of madness already come
too late here
feeling the twisting
pinwheels
beyond

I bleed out from
the outside
in torrents of color

I am a prismatic ghost

at least I think or thought I was
or maybe am
if this is what I am thinking
or have thought or is
what I have felt
or perhaps seen
at least thought I saw or think
I was seeing

still phantoms feed me eyes
showing all single strands of time
forcing memory upon me
drowning in kaleidoscopic
whirlpools derived from dreams

this disembodied vision
held together by fragile strands
like rain in twilight of summer days
something heavy
fleeting
originated in the sleepless nights
of my finer realities