This linear mind
with its instinctual limits,
feels fake and dysfunctional
in its unchangable ways.
This unchanging mind
fails to hold sway the sly wiles of the days, as
chained by ingrained constraints,
I play compliancy like an ailing pro,
whilst, as if unfazed, my vague rebel
makes the hollows rhyme.
This rebellious mind
is a flaw in my design;
daily, my core tries to rise out of hiding,
but cannot fight my innate nature —
I make it wait while I finish writing,
and every night I pity its failure.
This failing mind
inhabits an unfathomable place;
writing fast-forwards my false-steps in life,
raising me, making me fly,
even as I nip my fantasies away.
I cannot restrain my flame-shy right to hide
from the strangeness of the fire-bait day,
so I write, write,
©Jane Paterson Basil