Exuberance

i wanted to write this down in some corner; in my own light occupying some imaginary my own space--romanticising; somehow I want to hold that feathered ink pen and jot away--and this keyboard, swivel-chair, and brightass screen is far from it; but what's so romantic about writing--about thinking--it's really as true to yourself as anything, without the cinematography.

I realize I have a bit of the Kay Jamison in me (I helped a customer find her new book Exuberance, and had a nice quarter-minute conversation about how I've explored Unquiet Mind, getting the jist of exhuberance which I have not read), and I've gone from some dark space to this high that flies unlimitly crossing state boundaries.
Yes, I am the center of the world. Is there any other way?

So you, me, didn't love me
but loved what you made;
and I the culprit of me all
--------------------this time
through inception, construction, solidification,
according to you.
I wasn't me
negated me
for you and I met me
tonight I
---------(had a good laugh,
you should meet him,
he's a lively guy)
found all the innards
trailing behind, forgive the toadish metaphor
and swallowed slimy them;
sang a glorious song
it lasts a stanza
in a voice that was de-
lirious, piercing
the air
------around us all
we were
-------flying
tonight

I sing

.
.
.