lost mind
Cultivating something in the
neck of time stretched like
a goose in the realm of fois
gras. Acetone light gleaming
blue during a rainy fall. drips
dropping from the ceiling
one monotonous but symphonic
drip at a time. The pail getting
filled one concentric circle
at a time, the sound
reverberates through the
still room.
Silence between
you and I ensues. There
is an undulation in the
presence of us. Knowing
but unable to admit.
I might be too young. I don't
have a job. I don't excite
you enough. "You have a run-
away mind." A train out of
control on a narrow path
to destruction. The octopus
entangled in my forehead
tells me otherwise.