Inversely, as this mind falls into sleep,
The sunrise arouses from dormancy,
Another, who’s life is truly a dream,
Of impossibly deep reality,
Where nothing is always anything,
But everything means something, and seems,
To be paradox or infinity,
Looping backwards, self referentially,
Never complete, nor is arbitrary,
But the non-random probability,
Of mathematics, physics, chemistry,
And biology, subconsciously,
Often bleeding into this memory,
What has been seen, wished to say, what life means,
Until “he” sleeps, raising the sun for "me,"
In reality made so absurdly,
Where nothing really is anything,
But "I" think everything means something,
Infinity, paradox, or between,
Feedback loops in self-perpetuity,
Never arbitrary, or ever complete,
Lucky, non-random probabilities,
Of mathematics, physics, chemistry,
And biology, self-consciously,
Perhaps seeping into that memory,
Things known, cannot be said, sunrises seen,
Inversely, as this mind falls into sleep...

T.W. Jolin