POEM: Tempest: or, Overstimulated

A quiet kind of lightening storm
will fire in wild moments of mass,
when thought chunks rush to the center —
the very center — of my mind.

It’s a ten ton pile up of thought
first packed, then crammed, together fiercely.

Just like the thunderless lightening,
no sound escapes that brain tempest.

3 thoughts on “POEM: Tempest: or, Overstimulated

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