i am the keys
pressed for time lost
the chord that didn’t
ring in the right way
but is strummed anyway
the lukewarm food
on the front porch
consumer of neuroses
divider of incongruent thoughts
assimilator of identities
the subconscious when it bleeds
into the pages for release
i am the selves i’ve yet
to kill
and those beckoning toward me
the future calls from
a wormhole in my peripherals
subjectivity has conquered
all train of thought.
©noodle
N