Auto heuristic fidgets -
flagella of sun across its surface.
I fall through, not down -
looking up at performance.
Light and pressure - now
white fading wall of weight.
It rises as I spindle deeper. Deep
into its brine and dark color.
What is hidden in this continent?
Where I cannot see, hear,
nor breathe, nor move.
It is not very different than the thought of it.
Surrounded by absence of thought,
bow of broken bone
and lungs filled with apocalypse.