Tactile Studies of the Synthetic Landscape: fractal hallucination in pixel parallax

In the distance, the hills are not hills,
but fleeing triangles,
repeating themselves like a broken echo in memory.
The intoxicated perspective
bends the roads until they look like thorns of light.
A horizontal river divides the world in two:
above, green filters like an electric sigh;
below, an ocean of pyramids
breathes in three misaligned channels of color.
I stare too long and the shapes
begin to spin into faces, wings, towers,
all at once.