dejavu

The dejavus that come, I release into them, no reservation. I've come to recognize the state that I let myself become: all muscles totally soft, as if they are pores of skin suddenly opened to full capacity by gentle, warm water, no protection. Mind equally squishy, all strings cut. In a trance, my eyes move slowly to see the things I know come next. Thoughts pass uninhibited, like tinkling leaves scraping softly their light, dry tips across the textured strings of a brick orchestra, lying in dormant expectation on the floor of an empty train station. The recognition is stunning, and I follow with absolute vulnerability and unquestioning obedience, the step-by-step revelations of my lucid dream.