From opium tinctures falling in water, the ripples
Spread, surcease gained for the nonce, riddles
Spoken that confuse, confound the opiate seeking
Minds and more that search for better ends, dry
Lands well denoted by their shape, regular forms.
Drop in that loop, force the form if thou darest,
Push the future in ways it wishes not to bend
Around, for time abhors all paradoxes, blaze
Into chaos, those realms that defy order, shape,
The lines that define and drive into language.