Under fractured strata
          of reason and commonsense
          phreatic words lie buried

The inner self speaks a language
that won¹t translate nicely
into the socialized vernacular
          of the outer man.

Like geysers
images well up at intervals
recurrent and unpredictable

They are not outbursts
          of vapid truths
          those words

They carry weight

They gush from deep recesses
          saturate with the slime
          of our eroded lives

Draining bits of brittle ideologies
          and shreds of dainty sentiment

They swamp the brain and
          receding
          leave uncertain pools
          of opaque nostalgia