a fine-tuned madnessthoughts roam uncirculated
like raindrops on a pond;
instincts become as distorted
as dry-blown frizzy hair;
inside the bellow tower of my mind,
sound swirls in rapid fire sequences
like laser beams, increasing
in volume each time they
are reflected off bruised and
swollen membranes;
my eyes, blinded by the light,
retreat back into their turtle shells;
an impression creepsoutside my
physical encasement, a useless
image I can no longer protect.
March 1987
No comments:
Post a Comment