Vibratory,

Like washing machines without timers,

My mind shakes

Back and forth

And onto topics sans worth

Except for what I give them

Accidentally.

At first a movie, then pure mirage,

With slippings in and out of

Plot and infrastructure.

What’s the direction?

What’s the Ethos?

Who am I?

I could tell you a thousand names

If only I had more tired.

There’s a bug in my ear.