Dizzy, the rush of thoughts incapacitate synapses firing, neurons throttled, a crescendo of dendrites branching
Experience roots inwardly, tearing the humus of pregnant dreams, scratching to see the blood beneath the scab.
The greater the itch, the greater the disturbance of sleep, bound by a tangle of vines, deafened by the cobbling-together of thrushspeak, the cry of clouds contorting into unthinkable and suggestive shapes
Bleary-eyed, the lost wages of sleep gambled away on a ticking clock.