The function of Chaos

Dark city streets
and neon lights,
in these dreams of mine.
I paint imagery out of the shells
of ghosts,
still jacked into the system.
The artist,
the mystic,
the weaver of worlds,
merging the living and the dead,
to create something not altogether new,
but to revive the memories
that lay dormant,
in every pair of eyes,
I glimpse.
The flicker of fire-light
whose possessors question,
if only briefly,
What lies beyond the apex
of absolute potentiality.


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