Heavy eyes and heavier mind.
That smell that ruffles under the nose
holds my breath. It’s the pressing on
the temples when thought flexes muscle to
renounce itself. I’m a physicist when I want to be
a master of art and science
though not right now.

Muscles aching from past endeavours.
That shivering cold that never
forgets. Mathematically there’s nothing wrong.

Close your eyes and let the world slip.
My mind is a tornado I chase and chase.

Black coffee clots
a chance to catch breath
then I’m back and bereft;
a salt-dry whirlpool.