get so
manic
i cannot
stand to
be around
me as i

bouncebouncebounce

poetry becomes
thehamsterwheel
because
thesilenceknows
i wouldn’t want
tobotheranyone

with all this

theonslaughtofthought
should be

paralyzing

yet i surf along
the razor edge where
realitybeginstocrumble
and still i can pick
outindividualpixels

wherelifetimescycle
inapermanentfeedbackloop
of white noise broadcast
betweendistortionsin
heartthistlesolliloquies

there is no
separationbetweenthenib
of my tongue tracing
poeticpermanencealong
her shapely thighs
asmasterpiecesarelost
inhercascadingmoans
flashing across the sky
in iridescent streaks

ificouldpourmyselfinto
a more pleasing instance
fromtheoverwhelmingplethora
of wrong time and right heart
this threadbare existence
would feel more lived in
rather than merely occupied

i can see the appeal
of padded walls
as these concussions
arelikelytobedebilitating

as if i have
that long