I wish I could
flash through my thoughts like a sparrow in flight
or glide through my mind like a betta in water.
I want my ideas to be graceful,
but I'm looking in wrong places
and the context is a shade awry,
like that hideous chartreuse
that left a residual stench on the cornea.
So as a fish floundering
from the fluidity of blindly doing
to the stillness of thinking silently aloud,
I find that I must look for grace
in the ungraceful
and that I am tripping over
the thin edge of time,
Life/Death riding sharply behind.
I wonder if I'll ever make sense
of all that is illuminated around me -
there is far too much information