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.
Angele Toomey Poetry 