Train of Thought
Off I go again on a flight of fancy, seeking, searching for my train of thought, that silver bullet gliding along rails of scattered musings — not the passenger but the track it rides upon, eager to bear the weight of inspiration, listening closely for the distant hum, longing for the sound and fury of wild ideas, the steel of revelations crafted into an unstoppable machine. I am warmed by the friction, the transcendent shift from potential to kinetic; erotic spark the whisper of a thousand explosions: all consuming, suffocating in its certainty, a slave to its own remorseless freedom. I am everything when I carry this mountain on my back. Everything.
Then I feel the elastic touch, not quite broken but enough to crack.
I shine in the afterglow, blushing in shades of sunsets; exhaustion follows, euphoric in the pain that lingers. Reluctant purr as the heat of glory escapes my skin. Light as the air above me. Leaving me cold all over again
