A Swarm
The ducks are here
and I speak to them
in my head.
A swarm.
People feed them bread.
I have a cornucopia of delusions.
Too much of one thing
can be overwhelming.
The right abundance
can be beautiful.
This delusional life is no beauty.
I am not one to be silent.
Not one to swallow pain.
I know I am in a coma.
When can I wake up?
When money rains from the heavens?
I need this heart to feel no pain.
It is a whole day.
And I am dazed.
Feeling something so sublime.
When does time know it’s time?
When I know not to talk to ducks.