It’s that time again
for the savage descent
into rabid unleashing
of rascal new sense.

You wake and are broken
and around and around
this mind you’re a pinball
with the repetitive sound.

To the ground you’re a master
that paces and pulls
and the faces you pull
speak of telephone calls.

Make way for a monster
I’ve drawn on the ground
in dust with my pacing;
germinate with each pound.