Gee, Thanks

How my healing goes, sometimes.

Closing my eyes

Trying to shut out

The background noise

Of the crowded

And noisy library.

As my hands twitch

In anxiety.

Focusing

On the screen

Before me.

Typing

Whatever comes forth

Never sure

What it will be.

Except

My unconsciousness speaks

In riddles.

Often

Don't understand

At the time

Of expression.

Giving me

Partial answers

Leaving the rest

To figure out.

Like

The New York Time's

Sunday crossword puzzle

I toss aside

In frustration.

Hoping

The time away

Will provide

Some needed space

To decode the answers.