The Person I want to be

Swirling my eyes around and ‘round Into a pile of leaves, I see my assemblage point swirl, too. I'm looking back at me in a tornado of thoughts Assembling the ground around below me, My support system slips And my conscience falters. It looks as if the worlds on fire In this pile of autism Nal autumnal artistry. The mystical mandala of my mind, Snatches up my spirit then takes me for a ride Into the higher levels of consciousness And some lowers too. I’m dizzy from the delusion. Illusions on the exclusion of always being present. And wander aimlessly into some dreamy delirium of nothingness. I slip into something more comfortable. Something more manageable. Something, more me.