Linking a specific organic process of the mind

that resembles
trembling shadows
of branches.

Surely
I do not mean
"fair & balanced"

but I must
self-actualize
everything

that is
synonymous with
this evening's sun

with waiting
for feedback from
cats, for the feeling

of the bathroom's rug
on my soles
as if I were

a mere comic-strip
in a massive
metropolitan city limit.

I'm a boy
trapped in a man's body
with a lot of love

wrapped up
in a human package.
It's hysterical

to think of this
metaphor as cost
-effective,

like angry solopsists
clinging to life
like animals

in an abattoir.
These very words,
thoughts, pierce

my heart,
my own verbiage,
so that the

previous idea
of comedy
becomes like

fossilized DNA
spawning under
the debris

of my
recurring
Spock-like centre.

Yet
where is Insight
traveling through

the brain,
reflections of
the surface

of the sun--
everything
moving us closer

to cyborgian,
as if technology moves
in different lighting.

On the table,
black & white
photographs,

empty coffee-colored
coffee cups,
a plastic "line phone,"

a fork,
a used napkin,
a 2003 movie guide,

a black hat
& a green Sharpie
is all that I see--

this is a web
of comfortable
spheres,

a cerebrum
of the misunderstood.
But, only for me

& I,
like a wingèd horse,
could be called

Mr. Pulp
with a blue pout,
with stretched

tear-ducts,
approveth of
grubbing feedback.

I sit here,
as always,
like a beetle

in stance,
moving sonic true,
like a woman's hair

in a swarm
of grass,
the mountains

are laughing out
like a loudly-cranked
amp.

Put me in
a photograph,
put me in

-side of your
cosmos,
I'm shaking

like a word-stem,
a tent, a falling against
the harmonic gizmo.