To lay in the dark,
without purpose or
prospect,
is to seal one’s own will
and to welcome decay.
The burning sensation
of boredom, which
squirms and burrows
in one’s skull is the precursor
to madness.
Yet, if one stops for a moment,
he can see his
slim and pasty fingers
flick and jitter and
ache and crave
the passage of thought.