Maxwell Scribbles in Night

There is something in all this, seeing the mangy fox
With it’s bad leg: I keep listening
To that song. Then I wake up
In the night in my dreams and insects
Were crawling out of me, my legs, leaving me,
Which is a good sign. And I grab the next book
That took my eye and wouldn’t that be odd: it has this amazing

Tale in it; something is adding up;

I cannot say I don’t know what it all is, as it is all
A muddled web, a board, a pop star’s
Contrived narrative: I am not overthinking it; I am thinking about
The book; I am less scared of the secondary layer thoughts.
Growing on my skin, they were, crawly sores,
With some going in and out and I couldn’t block up the holes
I know, what it is. I know it is coming. This sounds contrived—bad!;

But amazing though mangy.

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