…and so the words spin,
Wet and dirty,
Slapping, sloshing against my,
Temples.
I put this mess here,
Dropped in this dark space,
To be cleaned.
Processed.
Handled.
Sorted.
A pristine mind.
A clean message.
Neatly folded
And here I stand,
Staring.
Off, and in center.
Haunted by hums and,
Waiting.
Waiting…
Waiting…
For the sound.sign that tells me
It’s finally ready.
