Apparitions appear in front of my closed eyes
Not demanding a hearing
But fading in and out
Reminding that there is a memory beyond losing
When things are not even lost
Lost, though I feel, is a state not a being
Here I am not, there's too much fog
Chalices covered in dew
Filled with ice
Jeering with smaller mouths
Selling that which has no price
To the lowest bidder
I want some air
A little food
And to rest, peacefully
Are we in this bardo together?
Or does it work on your terms?
Monotheism's nucleus
Purgatory, wandering on through
Roman Ryan 