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

Then it’s still-
dead silent,

deafening
(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
obses-ses-
sessive, com-
pul-pulsive
sky.