Angele Toomey Poetry

This poem was the product of hearing the first line in my head and then letting it tumble from neuron to notebook.

Insights
My thoughts
are running wild
falling over themselves
as they trip on hidden
punctuation,
becoming dunk
on self congratulation

My emotions 
are complexities
woven into
the strata of 
an archeological dig:
objects appearing
larger with retrospect

My body is
bloated with emptiness
that feels in
a simultaneous
moment
both dense and
meaningless

A cigarette
burns itself out
as the ice
further dilutes
the drink 
I will not finish.
Today.