This mind is a jam,
Is a honey, is a cough syrup.
A motley of chaos, in a container.

This old brain from my skin,
Soaked in pool of chlorine,
Or an intestine. This mother of me

Comes from the grandmother.
This is the girdle of Venus;
This simulacrum, this effigy.

The tyndall effect exhibited
Spread, spread, spreads
A margarine of coal, inedible;

It spat the meal it created!
But a mind is a cog of a machine.
Two is a watch; three is a clock;

Hundred is a Big Ben.
How can i forget this;
This is self-aggrandizement!

This seeming small, seeming
Incapable; belching cyclone,
Tending Peloponnesian war.

The might and shyness, the complex
Flung disguised for a dove, that
Pool of roses refracted in blood

This frantic trade of dagger
In forms of rhymes and letters -
This is it. This is mind!

Tis the season to be falling
Tis the season to be gay
Tis the season to be flying
Higher, farther, away ~

Chains loosened she calls to her mother
An earthy musk, grains of sand, mud on her face. A scruffy mutt laying listlessly on the tarmac, ribs rattling with the effort of each breath. She is home.

Muted flames thrashing in its cage, raging in the midst of civilization, a crucifixion of sorts. Tearing at its hair wildly, the masses trickling by, mouth agape in a silent scream. Ashes mixed into pieces of scalp, begging to be found.

Oblivious to a sound like thunder, clapping in one's ears. Strangled scream lost in translation, a language so old none could decipher. Fear wielding urgency, a disguise of desperation, depression.

Refusing to be still.