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