The criss-cross fabric of space and time

Intertwined with person

Grows a hexagonal dimensional weave

Carrying deep pockets of dense nothing

Taking light to nowhere

To worlds beyond reckoning and reason

Darkness moans, emptiness yawns and nothingness drones


Since the dawn of time, the death of space and rise of spirit

The monsters swim in the place between

Layers of triaxial woven swaths

The things that go bump in the night

A hexameter beats with a jazz band

Until spacetime spirals to oblivion

Slicing pockets into this multiverse

Where none are gone.

The wolf howls

The crow calls

The witch stirs

And the warrior sits


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