if you could flip the mania on like a switch:
florescent daylight before 5am,
scrubbed-clean-white-sterile —
a little unfocused but steady &
feeling like skipping lettrs.

flip on all the words to make sense —
clarity sears like hot sparks
burning in,

leaving their mark.

briefly it is all too much;
& much too wonderful.

i need to save it, to keep it
in imaginary strands.

i am desperate for an empty page
to spill the racing mind
but even my hands are stunned;
twelve sentences for every.. disjointed one i write —
here then gone in the same second,

like a hummingbird at the glass.

in my minds eye i grab on, both fists,
wrapping my arms up in understanding & form
typing useless lettrs in an effort to never forget

the things that have suddenly started making sense —

once misinterpreted but now without blame
insight exists in stunning form: glittering & gold.

almost as if a test:
to know this, & believe it for a suspicious second
even knowing in a moment i’ll be back to before
where the lessons sound chalky
& just fall flat,

pushed away with a single utterance of bullshit
whispered, quiet, under the breath.

& that’s all it takes;

tendrils of truth drip off my arms &
almost as if imagined,
they ceased to exist;
& suddenly i am here again:
the reality that stings,
the thing that runslikethis & nevershutsup.

suddenly

all my sense of self in separate bags,

floating off on balloons & strings.
i don’t have enough hands, or fingers that don’t slip,
so i am kinda screwed,
but it hurts too much to care.

wondering,

why is it that
the only time my mind is clear
is when my body’s blurry.