They remind me everywhere.
The sounds too loud, the
pictures too aesthetic, the
taste too pungent,

and oh well, I can’t
run away from them.

I am attached with the freedom
to think. My brain is in the
cycle of this on-going process.

I am wired on a fence
that borders from this
imagination to that dream.

The scenes play on and
on.Motion is haunting me. I
cannot escape from this malady.




About chester maynes

poet, and a lover of music and books.
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