…as I always have.
Worry like ravenous pups gnawing at my heal.

Too much to consider.
The brain is just three pounds of meat,
holding it in.

The letting go,
even if for a brief moment,
so worth it.

An escapism,
allowing us to hear,
the buzz of cicadas in the air.

A relaxation,
from the insanity of existing, 

Realization that our life,
is to simply produce for the worldly machine.