Emotions flood my brain;
Ideas crash into my core.
The brain knows what the
heart should feel but that
stubborn organ doesn't obey.

Love crashes onto the shores of
my dreams but life is occurring
in the desert, where fantasies are
cactii, prickly and green.

If my soul is ever inflicted with
that emotion poets rave on,
will it be true or a bribery of
reason with a message that
it is tired. Of being alone.
No man's an island.

Maybe I'm mistaken.
Maybe that mutinous muscle does feel something,
but still I hear whispers...
No, you're wrong.
Always wrong...

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