The Lucifer Sequence Poem by Midnight Clarity

and impulse is the master
of us all, except the dalai lama,
even he may have a moment
where duality shudders into
out of, into light,
schroedinger's dead cat
come alive, or living,
dead inside its box;
does it still purr?
Am I writing
or is this bleeding
on the page
that circumscribes
the border of my life
while knowledge
makes the picture
dance on screens
across the world.
Reality undone,
the passion
frozen in the moment
is a crime, un marked
and uncommitted,
flicker of matchlight
on a wall.