of every waking minute
consciousness tricks a
stitch in time whirs nine
my other voice repeats a
broken record scratchy with
needle always
schitzing out on me aren’t
you cloud-brained when clarity
disappears not clear don’t
worry dear someday
your cliff will come running
round the mountain when
she who speaks inside my
head one left lobe in the grave
right spills thick-tongued
nonsense out raged
lucidity escaping was I
young once was I