Turned around,
or tossed aside?
Limbs of my mind
Tangled up
in a six quilted
Pantomime.
Fertile bedroom plots
Squirm with scientific
Methods, to madness,
Testing my limit
Which equals
Undefined.
A lost pen left
no work shown. Just
Blotted ink on the tongue
tied up from chasing
words to help explain.
But both sides split the difference,
staining twain.
Morning light never learned how
to cast black magic hypotheses,
just aspersions
on last night's heavy eyelids.
1 comment:
Wow! I wish my tossing/turning/frustrated/rambling was this poetic. I don't know what you're mad about but whatever it is you put it powerfully.
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