Pure Expression

How to describe with words, 
a place beyond words? 
Recently I traveled 
through immense cylindrical cords 
of pure nrg, 
liquid metal turnstiles 
stretching infinitely 
above and below me. 
They ushered me through, 
bending and twisting 
to allow passage, 
yet also moving 
within themselves, 
rotating inward and outward 
simultaneously. 
Beings of pure expression 
that shone gold, platinum, 
copper and silver, 
yet none of those colors.
There are no thoughts,
there is only information
throbbing through me,
slippery things 
that can't be spoke.   

Nearby my friend is lit from above,
the top of his head gone,
a cascade of buzzing nrg
throbbing through.
This is it, 
he is being downloaded. 
A horizon
stretches infinitely,
from the line
where his skullcap
is gone.
His mind is empty
of thoughts,
completely clear,
and yet he can speak
and he is soberer
than he has ever been.
He can see.

Beyond the mind
play-dough,
and the oddities
that guard the gate,
there is something 
that can only be felt. 
And we must translate
with rudimentary tools,
and bear the burden 
of its heavy load,
this thing 
that we can only
talk around. 

Spoilage

Lightning dawns on the horizon;
eyes drifted upward 
breathe in the glittering show.

Water pours from the sky,
harvesting cake from my mouth.
Pasty white frosting bleeds
off my chin and down my chest
like melted clown skin.

Thick copper strips of wax
seep through my pores,
boiling golden warts 
upon my shoulders blades,
then growing transparent
and leaking feathered crimson
down my spine.

My skin is whipped egg whites.

Molded cheese blossoms in the sky,
as acrid blue fireworks.
Crystalline flies
swarm from the explosions
drowning me in stagnant hues. 

Radiated, I finish my pastry
and fall limp into the cesspool of grass,
swarmed by green mechanical thoughts.