the brain muffles itself in fuzzy
screech-fall-flows. writers block,
zoned into oblivion, thought anti
-depressed and always sleepy with
a whistle with a wary worried walk
beyond the words it read in quiet little
head-room office space. hitherto unknown
was the minds capacity for deserted lethargy--
a battlefield full of intuitive feeling gone and
warbling like a bird with no verbalistic functions--
speaking in musical notes and tonal chirp's-- the
reality of things can only be understood as an over
-extended staring contest and our eyes have been teary
since the birth of the

    

                                     warmblooded  





mouse.