Inverted Prism of Consciousness

Brush with HorizonsScientists daydream of higher dimensionsSome find these visions exceedingly brightI fall for something not half as pretentiousThrill of untethered, free, blind flightI crave not snowstorm bursting from cloudNor dread thick fog that sneaks up on the slyBut flight over water where stars on the groundBrightly reflect limpid stars of the skyThin razor blade of far, murky horizonLost in profusion of stalled firefliesMay be diagonal, may be up-risingMay be redundant, for all that impliesStars, whirling round in dark midnight's embracesAm, starkly airborne, swept with delightWhat end awaits mebreaking the surfaceGrasping the void or awaking in fright?All these don't matter in moment's delusionBut for a feelinglike faint, distant screamThat, when they find me, my wrists will be oozingTorn on sharp edges of prodigal dream