Interludes (Phases)

Swimming through treacle
everything sticky and icky, all over
but no-one’s to come to help out
of that air-bubble pocket
in tattered hand blown glass,
space invisible,
for it’s not in their dimension;

The multiverse doesn’t smile today
on those out of phase
pleading for interference
in the wee hours
at the bottom of doomsday-vault days

And if stairs might lead up
they’re fractal, endless and Escheresque,
yet with nothing to tread on
but descending ascend
there’s nothing but keeping moving
through treacle-verses,
loops and hoops and alternate lines,
until treacle melts to glass,
to fogs colliding