In amongst the cackles,

the small wheezes that sound

like someone learning how to play

the saxophone,

buoyed by codeine

agitated by symbolism

and wracked with the fury

of an inward tempest,

I found an excitement

that could not be displaced

that would not lay still

and somehow I knew

upon this April morning,

cold and damp, fitful and feverish,

that my head, fit to explode

like an unwanted atom bomb

lost in transportation,

I knew I had an idea…

I gave in

and went to my desk

and began to type…

Ian D. Hall 2016