In The Mind Alone

A Vortex

Photo by Nick Andréka on Unsplash

Free-falling since inception
up to the cellar I climb
pausing only to place my butter
in the washing machine —
/It’s age, you know/

Half in slumber I imagine
I am a cucumber and finger
the squishy end and chop
it off to stop the clotting —
/slowing the flow of senescence/

Attached to a palliative drip
my head transfused with
mellifluous rumblings
stretches out to inhale the fallout —
/fallacies clouded in snowflakes/

In my restlessness
I sense the pulse
of a heated heartbeat
rhythmic in its thud —
/compounding a hollow sound/