Vacuous conscious reality, the source of denied exportation of my credulous concepts of mortality,
continues to exact a measure of sustained triviality from my always skating rink dilemma,
para flight jumpstart rapport with that undertow current,
that push-pull riptide sasquatch that reasons to, at best, vague insight logic.
So far from the truth is my realized consciousness. I unimagine the future and see clear.
Sinz is shooting thru a perchance crystal cyclone. Fast is slow. I’m not to dawdling.
So, to see truly, I turn my head from the matters of motions, and know that,
of received invites to illusion, I can accept only the arbitrary triflings of principles and pendants. – Sinz