Run through it and around it.
Feel it, smell it, try to let it sink into your bones.
What is this cloud that gathers round my head?
And fogs up my mind, rains down on me til it trickles through my soul?
There’s reason, but not here.
That’ll get me somewhere, but not where I need to be.
Resolved, a myth of miracle cure.
Chase it, catch it, and watch it disappear,
A parting of the clouds
Followed by the rain god’s fickle pleasure
And a dense gathering of insanity again.
Is the weather inside or out?
Or inside-out?
My head is empty and gushing forth
The eternal tide of making sense,
And sensing the senselessness all around. Within.
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