The neuroses are setting in,
insidiously.
Those mysterious transmissions of messages in the brain,
that say you’re not okay.
What does it mean to be okay anymore, at any rate?
Is this a writer’s chaos?
If so, does that warrant sensation, publication?
A slow dance of melancholy whirling,
like a dark shroud in the wind.
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A Keen Sensibility 
Sounds about right. Crazy is the only proper way to write. Anyway, I would have to say you’re in good company.
That last line is beautiful, by the way. I feel I know that exact image and that exact feeling just from those few words. It’s one of those obvious metaphors — the dark shroud in the wind — that’s only obvious once someone else puts her finger on it for you.
thanks, ryath. this was just a quickie, so i really feel like it could be developed a lot more. perhaps later when i’m able to come up for air. grad school fosters a certain pathology around finals time.
i do too like the image of a dark shroud in the wind; it’s like a helpless inevitability; you’re at the wind’s mercy. or are you? but it evokes a sort of creepy, beautiful thing.
Sorry to clutter up your comments section here (really, WordPress, there’s no way to send private messages?), but I had a couple questions…
Since you suggested I try the poetry thing, I finally got around to revising something I wrote last year and I just threw it up on my blog. If you have the time, I was wondering what you thought.
Also, I was just looking for the place where we had that conversation and it looks like you’ve removed the poem it was in response to? That was probably my favorite thing you’ve done on here. Did you take it down on purpose? 😦