Living
Sundry torrents ask me for nonsense,
Veiled cloaks hovering in cinnabar sunsets,
Hovering evenly in evening’s evanescence.
Nostalgia reaping neurons from presence,
So stress rapes neurons from futures,
Plans rope neural knots round tethered pasts.
And so tumultuous lassitudes tear wicked trenches into further trenches.
Thickening malaise of everlasting unknown senses,
Of what,
Of why,
Of when.
Until nothing responds with the rhythmic rhyme of more.
Copyright © B. Joseph Fitzsimons | Year Posted 2023
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