Phosphenes

I close my eyes and the world dissolves into little stars. Windows and shadows taper off into unknown distances of space in sickly, bruised, yellow-greens and poisonous magenta. With whisps like ghosts that arrive in clouds and vibrate in the center of this not vision. When they are sliced by imposing rings of pale blue and green from the left, washing away like a beachy horizon. Until it fades away once more into a grotesquely stained carpet pattern crawling with ants That moves as if on a conveyer belt. There is a fine black point in the distance that radiates with a distinctive sting. It begins, with instances of light that stretch and vibrate like sinew under beacons when the squinting makes the vision ripple And flattens floating amber orbs until they burst. The prickling landscape advances.