symbols and logic, the chain of mind
made of links and gaps, synapse firing
span the abyss between knowing and death
landing with feral crouch, ready hands
the population count, a string of myths
sigils embedded into wrinkled lobes
tapping out morose morse from which
one might birth radiance… or ruin
cheeks pressed like children
against the glass of the candy store
soldered in place, form factor of life
dtx, typo of the soul
it should be read dx
the abyss across which
the mind endlessly leaps