Point Circle

Carry me on down the electric highway
To the windless plains of Troy
Where the forest of question marks grows
Among the sun of synoptic finality

And in the void of the dimensionless place
There to taste the perfume
Where the point circle flowers
Mass is infinite and light only is

Where the line of existence cuts the plane of now
Subsists the point of me
Line, plane and point exist without thickness
The circle of self has no diameter

This non-existent pointless point
Where movement is bound is where the pointers point
For all dimensions remain at rest
While endless vistas greet the I