A Little Discomfort Poem by RIC BASTASA

there is a little pain
that goes on and on
and on,
a prick at the finger
tip, a pressure on the
toe, something steps
at you,
an idea
a discomfort of your
mind,
you write it
it rebels
the description is
short of what it
really is

and this is always
everyday
at dawn you wake
up
some luminous
letters are dancing
above your
head
glowing like
fireflies
tumbling and
whirling and
staring
at times

you write about it
again
but they melt
like your
dreams

on the floor
there is nothing
left

some dusts you
breathe
from the
dark carpet