a forfeit in form

i've begun to notice
my brain functions on a different level.

"what exactly does this mean?"

common questions come -
coming more common than answers
and
there may be
no
true clarity.

"mark, what exactly does this mean?
it's beautiful, but
i
don't get it."

i stared at the sky
tonight
and saw window,
(blank in my periphery)
with nothing substantial
'til the street light hit it.

"it's a little abstract.
i like the ones where
you
use symbolism instead of
spaces."

the window
was a god of the moment,
giving perfect light
to one dark place.
catching the lamp
and tossing it
like
a rubber ball throughout
dark tenement hall.

i feel the pulse at all hours,
especially the dull moments
in between.
i feel the incongruity of time,
the lapse in the second
and the malcontent turn.

i am lost,
but only with a foundation.