Restless

Thoughts on endless repeat,

The orchestra self-composes

in its sleep, and in itself

finds too much to think.

Ideas are repeated,

Recycled,

Rehashed and rediscovered

so that the words themselves

might speak, and find they too

have breath within them,

to somehow be unique,

And like the rest of us

fall short and yet succeed.

They tumble from my mind

like rain onto my feet,

and I scramble to write them down,

Before I too fall from my waking mind,

and into sleep