Room service, please

as my mind slouches off ancient aggregates of consciousness
i wonder if my motives are pure
are they more than just a ploy
a plot to arouse feminine sensitivities
by the arts of fine-tuned terms and jargon
may i be allowed the transgression of
free expression as i window-dress
my intent with goldleaf and rummage through my mental dictionary
fit the soldered pipes and explosive concepts together
into a contraption which could kill or heal
all through the potency or inertness
of its components as they manipulate
sonic waves
the vibration of air as it
aids the subconscious in forming ideas
which bubble upwards in effervescent waves
lapping the cranium as its innards whir away
in frantic activity or
indifferent dozing
mandalas drawn into sandy plots of multicolored paths
which form concentric rings and intricate alleys
of a city of gods
which truly resides in the psyche and which forms a framework a structure

which, once completed, seamlessly flows from one

point to the next

a matrix within an enigma within a walnut shell

within the universe

meow