the madness of this milky morning. every day.

there is always a choice i thought.
but then some things sneak up on you
quite unexpectedly.
like sleep.
and love.

lying here i notice
the clouds are moving the wrong way
like the melancholia that moves in
for days at a time.

and the heart of me,

aquainted with the night and this mind
that never stops
-perhaps a flaw of inhaling too deep
and the power of becoming-

wishes you could read,
like braille
with non-eyes,
the invisible ink that paints
this ever-contradictory portrait

of me
in words.