I
Thoughts do not come often in streams
But fragment, tangentially and otherwise
Ramming their prows against each other's confines
In fits and starts they form and stop
Like the shards of a gemstone menagerie
Some clear as photons pass through them unabsorbed
Some cool and blue like the depths of the Keys
And others absorbing every photon into a sheen of white madness
II
Death comes in a monocle and sex in a top hat, raging from the id
Coming toe to toe with my condoms and a dialysis machine
Dispatched from the superego to fight my pugilistic ego
Red, slippery, and supple yet firm like Carolina clay
III
One should always come prepared for the overarching etiquette
Ever-present and effervescent in any social situation
"Should I wear a colon, or is that too revealing?
How about this scarlet semicolon? Bold and exotic, yet reserved"
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