the window of my study lies a tangled wood. Hanging vines and
twisting ivy ensnare decaying hardwoods and malnourished trees.
It puts me in mind of a brain that long ago collapsed under the weight
of its own confusion. Skewed synapses, vagrant neurons, a river
of serotonin dammed and slowed to a trickle. At certain times
of the day, sunlight penetrates my woods and, for a moment, I think the
light might spread and order the chaos. But the light fades
quickly and nothing changes.