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.