Surfliner Epiphany

The light has no place in this terminal of dark,
It's swallowed like a balloon of Cuba Blue.
Information free of context is mere data,
A sea of noise that makes of milky nebulae
Ejaculations of some lifeless gas.
How we want that sound to think for us,
To take our minds and hands away
To dramatized miraclities, full of virtual
Philosophies and death in 3D,
Finally meaningless like everything else.

The lime auras and the instant phospheresences of green,
Miracles pulled from the same black hat,
Do their act inside a separate head.
Fantasies shared are no longer fantasy,
But reality experienced as a dream
Can only stay a dream for others, a step away
From the never solid, never certain world,
Its ever-fearful dark that always beckons,
That always questions what we believe --

We just can't allow in a traveler without a stamp;
There are too many orphans waiting on the platform
Hoping for an open door, a kindly conductor,
To let them pass through --

The way is always going, as if it slips away
From reaching fingers, not the play of
Circling flies, without a center there,
When the world before the eye
Forever makes new homes as
Doors open, winds blow, forms turn,
Families dissolve, and the friends that are
Strangers start taking pictures
Of the empty shapes.

I get to the point where I must look down,
To find I've an overhead view already
On a superhighway of ants
Who touch each other as they move
Like circuits that bring memories to
Dumb terminals that flower,
Only new worlds to lose myself again in,
As if the light withheld is to explore.