Don’t even know quite what they mean.
Veins humming with activity, I suppose.
The autist brain exploding inside,
Snaking out past the edges.
Rushing rivers of thought,
Some branching wider than others
From the source,
Yet remaining connected,
Like great thumping passageways,
Leading each to their separate worlds,
Yet all traced back to this buzzing hub
That begins it all.
Yes, I can feel them each in turn.
Some days frightening,
Once in a while, prelude to the
Inescapable crash and burn.
Beautifully busy and…
So, I say,
Sing, bright autist fire, sing….