Neurotic Streams

Resisting their frantic appeal

Photo by Adrien Olichon on Unsplash

Eleven eleven and I’m well past transmutation,
nighttime without you is when fears start whistling
and arrest my chest, infect my head with violent things
reeking of the past—I know they’re not real but they flow thick
with ominous darkness deafening, and strength
gathers merciful to resist tumbling into the dance.