Alchemy sensory and otherwise to reach the midheavens

Meditate as a Roman would
on Platonic solids
in a neoclassical time period if you like.

Listen to nightclub music.
Change your views to that
black is brilliant and thin lightning

of electric blue be like
zero dimensional stars
stretched to line

on the midheavens
with where, where
imperceptible grids.

Think that the cold
sparkles with icicles
through your breadth.

Imagine you are inseparable
from the cycle-circle cosmos.
Imagine this truth, and the immersion

into poeison, the small trick does dose.
Unburden the gestated egg of accident
and chasm. Inhale endlessly.

The arrival of patterns, loops in rug,
the track of medieval libraries,
the reception of fragments of text

by voice. The milk of ecstasy pouring
from dance, from rough and smooth silks
from meteoric walls, from the echo of embrace

and your ingestion. This release in relative ease
is what I think people imagine post death to be
in a time of arrays of radio mapping,

how astronomy makes us pine like
animals for sex, for death as postcarnal
renewal. the idea of our totality with others

without the weight of morality of what are their thoughts
and because you don't exist consequence is not the
sharp wound. If you were around all around but not

absent, what would it be like - if you knew?