Distant phantoms that shake my bones and make me wonder at potential.
And potential energy.
As if the things that once were, now  drive the things that are.
Like windmills waving spiral arms
as mad as

GIANTS.

The words that play on the back of my eyelids, seldom make it to my mouth.
And if they do, they hide behind my lips. Begging to be read, like braille.