Too fatigued for function, a brain bleeds.
Fragments of consciousness drip.
Like melting candle wax.
Like a morose faucet of neglect.
Ponderously painting paths of uncertainty.
Etching a cloud so sparse and unpredictable.
My thoughts – scattered like dicy bits of clay.
He regards, with glad tidings, a different state of mind.
Eyes hasten their retreat, a pleasant abode in the warmth of the skull.
Word play an elixir, diction thy poison.
Lulls him on, subterranean dances, lyrics color a chamber.
The image culminates, the bounties replete;
never lives a moment of sorrow in daylight’s defeat.
Tony Blau Veldt, 09/12/2014, 11/09-11/15/2015