I look back inside my psychotic death;
mind, none fathomed my plane exists, being
in the moment. All seemed natural, loving.
Left my body in these moments’ deep breaths:
A fully conscious veil of living death,
touched and healed by the Light’s power teeming.
I fly through the ward, without much speaking.
Peers react to thoughts/intentions, confess:
Faces, actions all spiritually declothed:
their thoughts, emotions, intentions, I see.
She briefly comes to mind while I fly high.
In my asylum room, we’re befuddled,
We see our empty vessels, flesh and be,
Our flesh journals on her, our being thrives.