Evanescence

Elisa L Everts

Psychostatic
spins the cotton candy
of my mind, wispy
almost thoughts
gathering like feeble
clouds,
seeds of sugar
teasing at
accumulation,
then spinning off
again, just as
likely to expand
and disband
as to accrue
and construe
some united
entity of
substance.
And
even when a
substantial cloud
accumulates,
it all too often
evanesces
all too soon
like the lingering
fragrance of a
beautiful woman
rushing past me
on the street.