I live in my own fish bowl,
a clear stream
of silver strings
swimming gently
with and against me
as I am moved
in a mad and melancholic melody.

Pressing against the edges of my prison,
I try to see beyond
the light splitting prism
into a new multi-dimensional spectrum.

Opening old books of fiction
as my own teddy bear seams split
letting my mental stuffing slip,
I reach and read each page into
a brand new pre-used
mental picture reality
that moves as rapidly
or as slowly as I desire