I simply am--lost again. 
How is it that I'm always drawn back
to pondering the primal motions of things
--such as the worlds revolving--
as if I'm once again an infant transfixed
upon watching a mobile suspended from the ceiling
as I lay in solitude in my playpen? 
I close my eyes and a montage ensues.
Could I merely own it with my imagination,
like a giant Jimmy Stewart rabbit friend,
then better I'd be.
But what I partake with that inner eye
wrecks imagination quite critically
as it arises and then expands
as reality to infinity.

My dreams are much too numinous of late

That even here at daybreak befalls the Night.

And I, a creature somewhat of consciousness,

Now transform, take flight.

Love:

Is it disabling or enabling?

When disabling, it sucks.

When enabling, it reeks.

Only when both, does it transcend.

So why never both?

*never say never--ever*