I Type the Words
©3-15-2022, Olan L. Smith
A taste of steel in my mouth,
Hints of sulfur drift in the air
Are seizure induced. Did I really
Smell it, or is my brain deluding itself?
Mini short-circuits in my brain creating
Whiffs that are empty. I type and words
Appear altered, different, reversed and envious
Of the other, dog becomes god, and I chuckle.
This world is so unreal. So fragile,
Reliant on the chemicals in our brains, the
Small currents of electricity, the unblocked
Pathways free of tangles, or short circuits.
Counting back the days, years, decades, we
All remember differently the same event
Unrecorded, undocumented, yet a fix-point
In thought. Who said what to whom, when?
No one remembers exactly what happened.
The fixed-point of unwritten events are only in
Our fragile minds thinking thoughts that
Never were, fallacies of self-aggrandizement.
YOU ARE READING
Poems from the Quill, by Olan L. Smith
Poetry"Poems from the Quill" is where I place current works that don't fall into other collections. It is here you will find obscure poems that range from constraint to free-verse. I began this collection as a contest entry, years ago, for what was then t...
