the horrible singing
in
my
fog-grogggy dream head
is
intimate and close-loud
but
is
only the alarms bad song
and
too late
too soon
anxiety has crawled out its cave
to
cook up
a
hot-knot meal from nothing
and
it
devours it
and
it
savours it
with hot sauce on its sticky claws
deep
down
at the breakfast bar
in
my early morning animal gut
till
i
fight it with logic and reason and evidence
into
such
space
orbit
that
i'm
left
wondering
these are my hands?
and
where ?
why ?
ouch !
and
what ?
from wallpaperhi.com
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