this that they call mania

I don’t know you.
But I’m caught
grappling with excess
and stressors floating
in a plastic cup,

slices of strawberry,
and the pinch of limes.
But is it enough
to wake me up?
The elevator mirror
laughs autopilot at every commuter,

while nickels drop
in a trashcan
where eager orange peels
pantomime and smile
beneath the sunlight
out of time.

mistook for the thing
that paints rainbows
and syntactic breadth,
may, in proper acknowledgement,
drift to save us all.

*Cat No. 37 of the 500 Cats Project