This mind so full and vacant
does not know where its been,
and holds long moods throughout the day
that words cannot begin.

For each new day a plasma wave
floods into chords I've pressed,
and pulls me into mental twists
where others' thoughts molest.

I try to grasp their codes of thought,
but with a hazy lens I've grown
to tell myself their tracks will rot
and not spot the unknown.

So the space between inflates
the basements under every face,
where I, who have no place to stay,
float off to cyber space.

I only trust what plays a tune
to the humdrum of our days
that make our insides stupefied,
undulating in a haze

where talking feels exclusive
and swimming with the trite,
and things we sought for centuries
stand stagnant, black and white.

For I don't believe in neurons,
and I don't believe in me,
I feel a universal warp that we
drown in a hidden sea.