Books are a refuge, a sort of cloistral refuge, from the vulgarities of the actual world.
Walter Pater
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In the Ether
In the ether
I hang suspended
I wait for you
And I know you're near
In this high heaven
My world's upended
I feel no passion
I feel no fear
I'm dizzy with love
But you never appear
In the gloom of this room
Of this cell down here
I know this place
Isn't truly real
And that like my love
It expands and sprays
The light will find me
Will bend toward me
Yet I'm marooned
In a billion days
I'm drunk with you
And I can't explain
Who or where I am
Or how I'm in pain
Rocking and rocking me
Rhythm is shocking me
Just like a child in your fist
You are knocking me
Rocking and rocking
Autistic, caged I am
Rocking and rocking
And rocking enraged
I am drunk with you
And I can't explain
Who or where I am
Or how I'm in pain
In the ether
In the ether
In the ether
I wait for you
Hanging in this mist
That I know's unreal
There is nothing there
There's no you, no me
Even though it's crazy
I still appeal
This is heavenly hell
I appear insane
I have no idea
Who there is to blame