Analysis Paralysis
By criss-cross catalysis,
Pillaged from memory—from pill.
Paralysis of analysis:
Stuck inside, and outside still.
Eyes locked,
No sign,
Neck straight, head cocked,
Eye-socket lined,
Long curved spine.
Focus inside outer locus,
A junk of mental hocus-pocus.
Bogus begs the beggar be,
Rather than fathomed,
Of withered crocus.
Lillith spillith an eider-dew;
Upon the eider-down.
Willith he then simmer, stew,
A ‘neath the Summer New?
Winter fell, and song-man cryeth,
To’ve been and not much else.
Itching on an itch till nigh death!
Approaches oceans inside of shells.
Echo yonder Spring in light,
And sight might be delight.
While still the tactile tends too trite,
Yet flickered, ever glowing bright.
Eyes ‘hind,
Blind mind,
Find neither sign,
Nor time,
By petty dime.
Found ground,
Deep down,
6, puddled clown,
Without beast at behest.
By liver drowned to dialysis,
Watered words upon the sea,
Crissing-crossed heaves—phthisis,
Waits for numbed catastrophe.
Copyright © B. Joseph Fitzsimons | Year Posted 2023
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