Busy...

you body clock
does not tell time,

busy body, slimy fingers,
trembling hands,
wrecking nerves
fast tracking heart,

exploding ideas
killing boredom

it's been this way
since

nothing is written
the spirit is away

the body is left here
comatose

dreams like butterflies
hovering on some red flowers

heartless sounds of
discontent

fingers dissociated from hands
the eyes are closing

like closed computers
at 8 o'clock in the morning

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!