There is no outer space, for me.
It is all considered. It is all redesigned.
I filter all through fantasy.
I swallow whole each dream
Converted into heaps of false memory
Littered with hyperbole,
In hopes that I may someday be
Shooting far and away,
Outside of me.
Because if fever dreams can lead to the edge of reality,
The Seekers among us must follow them there.