Fugue State

November 1, 12, 14, 17, & 20, 2004

Nil was formulaic of any suggestion jaunted for treatment

by counselor or any featured psychiatrist.

Of course, there were never arranged visits or set appointments

for any attempt to narrate a life or dispel a problem.

Stagnant, frigid, and unstoppable, all personal capacity remained

blank, brief of a sort, but certainly self-contained.

There was no faultfinder present, though all liberties seemed

ornery, as the search to convalesce rushed to mother diffusion.

How this rain made the eye all about everything internal was

a motion flushed into a tentative lake that laved certainty.

Reality wasn't frumpily relieved as cerebral matters desired to be

pleased; however the strain of whatever furthered importance.

The mind welcomes strange interlopers to wend through the basic

power points of unwanted knowledge, weltering whys and whatnots,

revolving purposely to facilitate conscience.

It's ordinary to rack reason by running from the conciliation of

a sensible revelation.

That mental registrar that calls to be pulled and recanted regulates

as an ambiguous pain, forcing to pierce the shield not so impeccable.

There is the stare, the limp stare prompt and tardy of being aware.

Square. If circled, continue to curve without cessation.

To deal with forgetfulness that wants to be revealed, righteously

stoned, a callous cruelly creepy, a dying fish in a creel, is to

deal with a cremation of regards that a bit of sanity would seek to

seal, and there it all goes, goes into the act to grate intention.

Regularly, business will hold its stance on the melting mound;

if to stay, dead will be sound; if shaken, cease to drown.

© 2004 Jarrod C. Lacy