Fluorescent lights drone and drainpipes trickle

above me, blanket me,

metronomes keeping time

with whatever it is

that ticks inside me.

 

I give myself over to their rhythm,

let my mind float

through the air above, flavoured

with monotony;

it wanders—my mind—aimlessly

at first, wafting in a sea

of nothing, waiting

for the waves to come.

 

And they do come:

wave after wave of thoughts

crash on the shores of my mind—vying for my attention,

evangelical in their resolve, arguing their cases,

proving their profundity, desiring

to be nurtured and expounded.

 

And when the right one crashes,

lasting just long enough

for me to frolic in the wash, the one

that has always been there, somewhere,

I savour it:

the feeling,

the sensation,

the excitement;

I capture it,

run with it,

bottle it up,

take it

back to the present, back to reality,

let it take over my mind

completely, bask

in the severity of

the connection,

the epiphany.

 

Then I pick up my pen

and let it run riot

until my desires

are sated.

 

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