Sliding grinding crazy thoughts
In the landscape of my mind

Techtonic plates grinding together
Breaking, releasing the molten magma

Is it insanity or creation?
Is it vision
Or schizophrenia?

Do be wary of that quiet field
For it may erupt smoking
Into a fiery mountain

Or subside into an unknowable chasm.

There is more beneath
This frumpy, unfashionable figure
Than you may imagine.

Or…
Perhaps I am merely deluding myself
Before coasting into the black hole
Of obscurity.

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