Toroid

Toroid

I once forced myself to write:
I wrote: “I am under pressure.”
And went on in provocative detail
With a description of content so vivid as to use the very words deeply embedded in the consciousness of my listeners to evoke the desired imagery
But now I am out of breath
In my mind I mean, I am out of breath.
I don’t usually communicate in such illustrious adjectives
And well, my nerves are shot and just not what they used to be when I used to be lucidly and elusively elucidating Lucifer illuminati hallucination with imagination and a loose tongue. But those are dark topics and now I speak Light,
Because I kind of forgot to grab and hold tight to my 15 seconds in the sun
When I was slightly younger than I am now but anyhow rhythm-wise I have definitely evolved
Or do I mean grew?
Doesn’t evolved have to do with genetic drift due to pressure and selection over a long period of time…. I get so confused…
What if I was a Zen master winking?
As I misuse a verbose muse, mostly chosen from the scant few known
to generate the thoughts which we communicate thru?
And by we, I mean I: I and I
Me, Myself and I.
This is the triplicate or triage
Triumphantly something glides through the mind
to spread grin over my grinding teeth:
It’s Three. Seems to be the key
Two tells truths about the One wandering
But three, three be the most magical three
Triangle, triceratops, try anything to expand
That bland vision on Ying-yang
Me, I might have been wrong
My sing-song honky-tonk ping-pong subjective viewpoint
I never gets bored
Myself edits while Me records
But, just to be sure, Me even tests your grammatical memory
Travel back in the stories score, where pronouns became names
So that the same word used before would undergo a change and make cents.
Mischief managed as I manhandle the data,
metered in the strata, read from the scatter-point graph
and like skin grafted to you grey matter thru visual chatter…
And I ain’t said shit yet….