POEM

Why photograph 
when there's an infinite camera 
inside of my neocortext 

where premature images 
were stored before pre-history...
My holographic brain

floating in an incubator 
beyond physical dimensions: see-through 
but unable to see in to

because my progenies were phantoms, 
kissing every tip of the spear. 
Unextinguishable, forever En Fuego, 

as if I'd eaten a Super Mario Fire Flower 
every hour, 
firing off like ironic neurons, 

feeling waterlogged 
like a wobbly-legged Don Quixote; 
the unquenchable drenching, jellifying.