Interrogate me, interrogate us --
of places found, of planets lost.
We forged a path through --
the dimension of the overextended,
a wormhole past what is expected.
She was the backwards loophole
in predestined binary.
This world (unknown) is not
run by number crunching, no
perfect matrix devised --
free of ERROR and free of time.
We’re nature, whiplashed through a series of
starts and stops -- endless in divinity,
boundless by calculation.
Fragmented fractures of hot wax
seep from the illumatory candelabra --
tasteless pleasure a tease,
distractions wasting us as still as we are
stumped by never-ending questions,
stuffed into the magic box --
oh, finite definitions of a life well-lived.