Sitting on the couch

Think of swirling galaxies at your fingertips
Dust and sparks of light and life
Patterns and places done in splatter-paint
Intentional lack of control within a clarity of vision
Bright and dull with sharpened edges and blunted corners
Rubbed and blurred together, spread apart
Wipe the frosted glass, smooth the crinkled foil
Think of infinite smallness brought to giant size
Knowing billions smaller and so much so much larger
Existing and thinking of that and then forgetting
Doing so much without thinking
Pushing and pulling out thoughts that can crumble to dust
Or remain steady, some that simply vanish
Only to reappear, astonishing the magician

Sitting, sinking, just breathing
Dancing endlessly with your mind, heart straining
Motionless with frantic energy pulsing through every fibre
Burning while you wrap in layers and blankets for the cold
The audience prompts the actor
Who cannot see that his stage is a marionette theatre

All along no one knows that the strings don't matter
But that doesn't matter either when so many ignore them in the first place