There is melody to malady and flows after ebbs
For perception is variable in its precarious co-eds
The psyche is not so black, white, grey, blue, red, green etc. in your rainbow eyes
But visuals for me seem a languid drivel- a veil of great size
In retrospect we clean our words and make them just
Elevate them to what we trust:
The narratives not prone to rust
All in copacetic lust
Therefore my attempts are token; the ones that try to understand
Those attempts ignorant in pursuit of truth
The race of a crab through sultry synapse sand
I can only ignore my ending in order to approach it any later
Therapy for the addled
That therapy is dull