I dreamt of a poetic epiphany but the road towards achieving that seemed distant and dim. 
I was shackled to Teenage Wasteland. 
I fed my soul with vintage lyrics and books and suddenly everything was revealed.
The meaning burst forth, out of the diamond sky and I was gathered up in the brace of the doors.
This abyss of infinite regress blew up and I was left with a mash, a pulp of nothingness.  
All of my ambivalent instances vanished and my cloud of thought dissipated into the sky. 
I looked at science - which wasn't quite real science. And I looked at love. Epic love. 
And I started filling up the void, the consciousness. 
Marshall McLuhan once wrote, the poet dislocates language into meaning. But the artist smashes open the doors of perception. 
And once these doors of perception are cleansed, everything will appear to man as it truly is: infinite.