Happenverse

The microverse continues as the living, active cosmos.
The stars of the macrocosm are the ghost in the machine
deep in there, look and see their voices calling: 

we are present out here at the farthest spun out
boundaries of an expanding metaworld. If one wants
to know what goes on at the ultimate end of all galaxies
one need only observe what occurs directly to them.
Without a doubt we are all extra terrestrials to each
other which by definition states fundamentally and
in all ways conceivable that no sooner would we be able
to make so-called 'first contact' with an 'alien civilization'
than we would be capable of (for example, reasonably)
expecting some of our metacarpals to travel through
our bodies and make contact with the metatarsals
on either side.  So the entire universe warps around us 

(our refutation of non-existence arrives along time's axis 

in the wake of a spiraling wink-out of stars) and everything's 

inside out, which means that truth lies concealed as an open 

paradox affirming that any and all points in existence remain
in the exact center really an electromagnetic motor
with space as the battery powering an infinite drive
where life flourishes along the current of time.

Colors are running

and the street's are getting cold 
in the cornrows of memory 
buried achievements left untold

the whole damn thing's on the run
a fraction of a fragment in time
the nictitating blink of an eye

then sound stood still for once
upon a sustained moment 
as if the whole world pivoted

underfoot to witness laid out
on your back the stars drifting
across to the right ever so slow