All this Earth is an illusion.
Conscience reset, I upload my mind to IX, the supercomputer that harvests all human knowledge.
Drowning in a methane lake on Saturn's moon Triton, I pull myself out my funk and play "Rappers Delight."
Rumors abound as I become Spellbound, as we lock eyes. You and your body length coat and me in my hospital gown, we speak.
Escaping my conscience, I decay into dust and drift through a black hole into the Multiverse.
YOU ARE READING
Stonehenge Stoners
PoetryA man does his best to better himself and cleaning up his act. Then he sees the gal of his dreams.
