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impulses, synapses,
a dropp of water in
an endless sea
trying to gain
control,
my mind is
spinning
on black ice
values, morals sense of direction and
motivation, they slip
beneath my worn-in soles,
at once I see them over
my head
pointing toward the night sky
and in this second before my head
smashes against the rock hard ice
beneath me,
I’m weightless, no,
I’m flying
like in a dream
I see you in
the sheet of ice above my head,
like a mirror
or an old photograph
of something you wished for as a child
and finally,
betrayed by gravity I lay
cold and motionless
am I losing my mind or
finding my heart?
Wes Thompson
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Wes Thompson
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