An Old Poem With No Title

I was by no means cajoled, but induced quite quick,

into a half conscious split,

where reason and love and

envy and guilt

are all blanched and borderless.

Pictures in parks, misshaped clouds,

an empty scent - misjudgingly pointed out.

white lies then truths,

and an absent rachis which rearranged the brain

and all its functions.

I thought only of the flame,

and forgot about the light.