Phantom catalyst

Drowsy,

I nod off at the keyboard.

My subconscious pours words

I never knew existed.

Phantom poems fill vague spaces

in my dreams,

when one hole mends

another tears apart at the seams.

Cerebral chemistry shapes

my plastic mind,

twisting sensory details

to trace the plot line

which is off the charts,

zig-zagging to confuse 

and catalyze.

Daylight bleeds through the blinds,

warm rays resting on my neck

and skipping towards my eyes.

I awake under

the weight 

of recollection 

and heavy sighs.

About tyler4turtles

I am an avid photographer, poet, ecologist, bookworm, blogger, art enthusiast and runner who calls Montana home but lives in Oregon.
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4 Responses to Phantom catalyst

  1. Reblogged this on The ancient eavesdropper and commented:

    Did anyone get the license plates on the phantom bus that ran my brain over?

  2. burning the midnight oil done with eloquence….

    • Thank you! I am definitely more of a night person. Probably a bad habit from my college days. Although, I get my best work done at night. But, there’s the slow start in the morning, so everything balances out. The oil burns off and all I can do is try to recollect the fumes of the afterglow 🙂 Have a good night!
      Cheers,
      Tyler

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