I wake
     and break into some high and wide verbiage.
Gorging my mind
     like some starving babe with bloated belly
            grasping                                 final morsels. 
Like some naked infant, muscling with all mouth
     to suck every last drop 
          of sweet white. 
(and I think...)
    why do i fress and press the regress data? 
(...I need...)
     why do i ground and pound the eyes-
          slicing and dicing the finite mind? 
     My God wish Screams. 
(...to be empty.) 

"The Finite Mind"
The Carnival of the Soul, Jean Llanomirth