∞

The iridescent streamers that cast across the horizon summon latticework underfoot that initially stutters and then steadies into semi-existence, it is a current that coalesces with my teenaged bloodstream, gradually slowing the bpm of a small valley of soft skin just under my left radius bone. A pulse measured against the asynchronous rapping of my fingers and again against the white plastic inputs of the terminal, rhythms that will oscillate in tempo throughout the afternoon, evening, perhaps until the morning. Perhaps only relenting at dawn, when the streamers will have returned from their outing across the horizon. Having elucidated and burrowed through an expanse of human and non human information, they return, still luminous though now waxen with organic grime. A newborn cradled in vernix caseosa. For now, as a teenager, I am forced to disconnect, to come down from discoveries that both repel and compel a prompt return.