brainless, brain dead
worn out all over
like a train without a track
and no monkey on my back
yet smiling, and happy,
and utterly insane
(in a calm sort of way)
thinking of nothing
with so much to see and feel
accepting the end of the day
growing and changing
and feeling those pains
(the good kind, you know?)
that work through the bones
and settle in the soul
and when it’s over
the change is unknown
but i’ve grown
a ring that reminds of
the opposite of love
with hope on the inside
like black-bagged jewels
a foggy road ahead
and pictures unexposed
The original was contained in a letter to cousin Holly C.