Now It's Inconvenient

About ideas flowing at the wrong time.

The idle moment flickers

dime, faint, and feeble.

Squint through the black,

nothing is even visible.

Yet, I ache for these

moments of silent peace.

Hoping that my thoughts

may somehow exit me.

Given the opportunity,

they do not openly graze;

instead they bump about

as in an intricate maze.

The moment then fades;

solitude then recedes.

Given no time, now

they all come out of me.