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I feel like loose wires blasting

Electric impulses heavenward

My skin is shaky

I want to run, but I can’t move

I start to do something

Then I stop

My thoughts fall flat

My attention span spans a second

My nerves are cut open, exposed

Noise sends me stratospheric

Aggravated by everything

I don’t have time to stop and breathe

So it seems to myself and me

Wishing for the lull of the ocean

A small bungalow up from the sand

Windows and fire

With dreams coming true

I can hear the birds through the air-conditioned glass

I can see her star-spangled American ass

Wet streets calm me

Coffee in windows watching the rain

Peace, quiet, warmth

Huddled beneath the orange neon

A muscular old church at the end of the block

A bookstore across the street

The smell of paper and ink

The taste of thoughts

Apologies in the windows up above

Figurines arching, parting curtains

Looking down upon the street and its wonder

A tortured writer pens the script of life

The crumpled bed sheets cradle his wife

As she journeys through dreamland

And I am preoccupied by fate

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My new book is now available for purchase: The Apocalypse Pipe. Available in both e-book and print editions! Thanks for reading and supporting independent creators.