Wandering unfocused eyes.
Minds got a mind other than mine.
Teetering thoughts, quivering fingertips
Infinity in my messenger bag
Lipstick in my medicine cabinet
Never on my lips
Simple. Careful. Loving. Spiritual.
Not following anything,
but rhythm
beating through my hands.
Drops of memory dance behind my eyelids.
A banquet of melancholy and dreams stir.
...I'm listening to Ben Lee. Very unfocused on my work today, focused on everything that isn't work today (mostly outside, being outside, thinking outside, feeling outside). Unfocus makes me melancholy, makes me think too much. It's a strange sensation. I'd rather be gleeful than overly analytical and underly poetic. Maybe someday I'll write my continuous wandering mind thoughts down (like i'm doing now). I could write a book and feel like all these hours spent "thinking" meant something to someone at some point. Wouldn't that be lovely?
I shall now readjust my compass toward the light of weekend, and noodling around with some of the stuff i couldn't focus on today.
The End.
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