THIS HIS FEAR ETERNAL

this his fear eternal: to relapse to the times that he once inhabited in long ago epochs
when the hours were 60s in sequence repeated
and he becomes stuck again
loopy amidst poppy fields
time after time after time he would
try but never achieve to leave it
circuits spent clowning around on
the clocks hands dancing for nothing
and it felt like spring every moment
but right after the subsequent blinks
these cheery green fields disappear
most abruptly and behind left remains
a dull & sinister grey malaise
which itself—this haze—he does not mind
(not all the time)
the surprise is what gets him most hircine
gruff and unkempt to fall them changes, unkind without warning
this transformation/transportation of his soul
on and off and off and on
his cortex goes, unable to decide which half is better
never aiming for a full whole to dig in to; to flow thru impeccablerly
he now needs the control that he once eschewed in those days early
his person is not his if it can shift twixt two places, i.e.
travel unenacted by his own will,
nil done for the satisfaction personal
and become someone else that the first does not care for
back and forth
switching evermore at rates of how quick light travels across a meter

sped around his neural circuitry like a theta wavy but speedier

the brainy kitchenaid he calls himself

slicing, dicing, chopping, mincing—all of it

thoughts occur at twice the pace of course but he loses close to seventeen in thirty-three

are the odds more or less in his favor?

unclear—he was never one for playing games

but the hunger still burns

and he kindles the infection, furthermore:
every moon's end he is undone for a second, seams split forth 
to show both the joker's ills and those owned
by the man hiding behind the funny coat
rended and blended are his two souls
he feels contextually filled to the gills
fully plugged in, for once, in his own skin
undoing to him a weird pleasure
to be complete once again 
though it feels like the end of himself
in some way it's a boon to his health
but he knows luna'll come back eventually
and drag him inexorably into the dualistic identity
(zip yr coat up, too, you dumb bunny)
never lasting tot'ly is his unified complexity
he can't stay in touch forever w/everything
the infinity is scary, plainly said
so the switching recommences in the end
but he thinks control's held in his hand
w/in this fire-bitten plant
the purple petals glitter white—grand sights, it is—when lit
and thru wooden box he sips the motes untoxic 
connecting to only the finest things his mind needs to run propererly
keeping body & soul aligned as well—retaining full sway over all three  
taking a tip from the trees
above control he floats now
but whispering below
come those will-'o-wispy doubts:
what if it all broke down?
what would you do, and how
would you avoid yourself
and at what cost?
what if this forest burned down
and your mind was fully lost?
is it better to have a bird in each hand; or, none at all,
but knowledge that a whole flock was nearby? how do you make that call?