Little silver centipedes

I am back in that woolly mental state.
The one that barely registers the passing of the days.
When Pink Floyd break in every morning.
The state that tries to erase logic and moderation.
The mental shuffling is on.
The one that pics a new desire everyday
and amplifies it until it bangs on the backdoor of sanity
The self-indulgent one
the self-destructive one
and sadly- the most productive one.
With a Velvet Underground sound-scape
day-by-day
I begin and end as uncanny as the day allows me.
As unstable as the waves dictate
and then I dream of blue sunlight and tribal dances
and wish never to be myself again