Explanations of the Past, a Poem

I was thinking about dimensions,

like in the world of real people.

You can't experience a dimension,

it's too narrow and void-like,

green and black,

purple and blue, dark-colored,

swirling like the Milky Way.

Yet, I came across this problem,

as it relates to anything else or

whatever it is I'm writing,

of un-opened doors

in the infinity of the mind.

This is similar to dimensions,

as the mind tends to think about thinking

while Thinking that it thinks

while thought is subservient to intelligence.

In the real passive dimension,

I'm making a mayo-tomato-'n-ham-onion-cheese sandwich.

The dimension problem,

which exist like intruding strangers

in my house, gave me a complex sense of time:

In my dreams, I could change

the outcome of my future,

In my reality, I could not move

from my computer.

Dimensionality gave me an opportunity

to expand and sort out some thoughts,

all thoughts went to dimensions,

hurled into the void like Zeus hurls bolts

onto unsuspecting Trojans.

Dimensions are now dust,

while thinking about them, they

cause glittery pathways of silver

to drown me in my own thoughts

while love--out strides dimensions

in Tsunamic, oceanic, corruptively-huge waves.