Gibberish Speaks

I am hearing a convergence of voices -- a threnody whispers on the ceiling, water licks down the walls and shivers my spine in the absence of knowing who I am, where, outside the forests of enchantment, I should go (where to work? where to work?) to find the right sequence of numbers, to silence the fear of not enough.

I am tinder. I smoke. I am flame sizzled by spent water. I should be happy
now, feel glee. But change is a cruel companion and the constancy of the unknown assaults me.

oh how the phantom sags
light shrugs off the dollar
but there is no money to be wasted now
no time to be content
as flesh wallows in debt
and sauces
but there is comfort here, mute comfort
that waits for this madness to depart and leave me with

a vocabulary so bruised that it hides.


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I don't know if the above made a lick of sense. Welcome to my world of not making sense. Mercury is immobile now, waiting for the backwards two-step to begin. Pardon me for my incoherence. Given the circumstances, it's normal.

I think I feel better now, and will now shower.