Eyes on high beams,
stuck in a stare,
at once every-
and nowhere
all while locked
in this alien gaze.
Found yet lost
in a maze.
Broken, yet assimilated.
Puzzle pieces of your psyche
know not the order
yet still aim to please
the one behind the scenes,
confident in his mind
as it continues to bleed
and you strive to collect
it all in these cups
of struggling
words and images…
Make it all make sense
before I die.
My whole life, striving
to know how,
why?
Make it all
make perfect sense, please.
A need beyond
my many other deep needs.
Flush of the Mindpot 