Here I sit in static motion,
Floating on a numb notion.
That words flying in and out my head,
Can be grasped; can be read.
Eyes wide open, watery, red.
Hot, behind them, mushy bread.
Sinus pressure to my brain,
Drives me to thoughts insane.
Drives me to perpetual motion,
Crickets singing like an ocean.
Soaring in my inner ear,
Ancient siren held so dear.
Pulling me to that far-off place,
My thoughts lost in outer space.
Will I pull them all together?
Or let them litter tissue’s blotter?
Like the sinus drains my head,
Will the words escape my bed,
To this poem,
To be read?
Copyright 2002 © Ronald W. Hull
11/3/02
Animation Courtesy of
Surgical Planning Laboratory,
Department of Radiology,
Brigham and Women's Hospital