Once again, the brain fogs
White clouds pulling the wool
Over, keeping the brain warm
From the cold of an oncoming storm
A symptom of depression
Doctor’s recent diagnosis
And I know it sits in the pocket
Of someone else’s procreation
Associated disassociation
My mind now in the sky

But

What more can be said about the birds that paint the skies
Above our eyes
Above the peaceful waters
Above the gleeful lies, and misinterpretations
That lobotomise
A fishhook pierces the eyes
Watering as we say our goodbyes
The hook yanks and the brain follows
Away we go, mood lowly flowing, low.

Birds lively flying.
Dying, alive.

My mind is now across the pond
Flying and nesting on some other land of particular dreams
The birds fly to meet
The birds fly, alive
If you could still see, I would tell you
To look high into the sky where
Some birds fell
Birds are forming ones brain
Wrapping around white clouds
Which they defeat, us still on our feet
Alive and kicking
Beating their wings, alive.
Mid-dive.

I wish I could cry, and show I’m alive
But I am dry, and the pond is full.
My dreams may die, like the withered wings of the gull.
Falling from the sky.

Desiring wings
I could swim, if I hadn’t caught
My foresight
Reeling in, just a thought.