Полный бессмыслица

On morrow I sit, mental teeming beyond measure, bit by bit,

Ideas jumbled, I grasp at threads of ghosts of those dismissed.

Actions, thorough yet gawky, lead my rumbling way,

Bounded by space and time, a chaos I cannot allay.

I shall not bend the world, so I return to where I belong,

In cluttered presence that is mine, where rightness meets the wrong.

I fumbled words to those who didn't get the scattered dote,

Made total claims both against and for, coherence remote.

The substance, proxy for struggle hardly understood,

Marking the spark of insight, losing it as quick as they could.

Pain grows within the soul, unrefined and raw,

I seek deep cleansing, divine yet undefined.