The Ruminator

On rare occasion,
I wave tasty topic
after tasty topic
in front of my brain
while it never,

Then it’s still-
dead silent,

(or deafened)
at last.

[It never, in fact, bites if I fish,
but seldom can I discover this,
for rarely ever is my brain not
chewing, already chewing.]

And these are the starless nights
when I know what it’s like
to be a Typical.

{I ever am atypical.}

These starless nights are twinkling, shining
gems in and of themselves in my
sessive, com-

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