the old violent and wild

your rib cage
holds violent and wild creatures
and in every vein
fires a branch of lightning.

your eyes are sunburned and sand blasted,
having been victims of a rough and abusive sleep.

sleep that's lasted decades.
sleep that's done no good.

sleep that's skimmed the surface,
as if it's mocking you.

sentence fragments
pound their way through
like tent stakes
and blast through your logic,
like bursts of cold, compressed air
or sudden escapes of

utter chaos.

sometimes they break through skull bone.

these are the thoughts that take weeks to dissolve
and they taste like stale metal.
like batteries.

and there is nothing


you can do but wait them out...

escape or ponder...

keep busy...

or do your best to pretend...

they are not there.

keep busy,
keep moving.