I can see a sun-slatted couch afternoon curled in quiet thinking of nothing but thinking
Metacognitive musery masquerading as constructivist clarity
Timp tump jangle high soft croon
Takes me down from judgement calls to soft wanderings
From room to womb
Aural slow down go downstairs
Big couch and high ceiling diffused with
Swirling sound and soft sun filtered
Orange peel plaster paint
Patterned like cerebra but wiped empty:
Erased
My ideas have ganged up on me. They are tired of flaring and dying, untended, and left to go cold.
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