Fiery lines.

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, 

Different functions,

Yet all traced back to this buzzing hub

That begins it all.

Yes, I can feel them each in turn.

Some days frightening,

Occasionally overwhelming,

Once in a while, prelude to the

Inescapable crash and burn.

But tonight? 


Tonight, just…

Beautifully busy and…

Highly interesting.

So, I say,

Sing, bright autist fire, sing….