Conscious limitation 

I am sedated and boxed-in

like a racehorse in transport.

My thoughts become locked in

a monumental wrestling match, vying for support.

 

Conscious limitation

creates in my envirosphere

a startlingly cruel sensation

and brings a crude realisation: I know not my purpose here.

A question explodes from within;

malignant masses of words surge skyward,

bursting boiling blobs higher to see which would win;

surging, soiling slobs while they look upward.

 

Go back to work –

let me silently, and humbly, implode.

My puzzles drown in the obscure murk

which constitutes my life’s payload.

 

My perceptions come alive and notice the enigma of the year:

I know not my purpose here.