a waiting, verse

Waiting, hate it. Anxiety escalating. Ring tranquilities bell before a tell. My
well, evaporated. Instead, pen-stated. Refuse to simply peruse possibilities. Me, one. of rushed brush. My vision,
Something I must touch.. All lust. For
Separation from these micro-managerial devils and their bite-no sand and serial settles. My analogous references disrupt my sentences. Sent to fizz out in my own chemical stall..
cursive my thoughts on left walls.. Irreg’, my fret stalls.. Remember my irritability, expressed thru some shape of journalistic agility. Magnify my stagnant eye, planned in tide, while my hand’s in-tie… Disbanded, I …