Winged gargoyles or gollum’s penthoused,
Through black concentric poisons flowing free,
A sprawling cityscape ignites as the dusk breaks into night,

Synchronized to the wearer’s mood or ability,
Rearranged as order to the dominant lobe,
Transpires the way out of left behind’s for more,

Precisely augmenting every aspect of perception,
To combine the senses from something in the present,
A glass filled sand derwish growing within momentum constructed,

All in the versatility of derivative experience,
Towards shaping things in its right place, all in due space,
Immunofluorescent strictures constrict its vessels,

Out of a reason to believe in the soul’s introspection,
And surviving the torrents of reality leeching through the present,
It takes a lot from meaning to require nothing in its entirety .