This less-than-two kilo machine,

Perched on top of my body;

Spews a never-ending supply,

Of tiny thoughts.

Random, disoriented.

They come and wave at me,

And before I reach out my hand;

To say a quick hello or a firm handshake,

They pop and disappear,

Into the invisible crevices

Of my brain,

Its engine never shutting off.

The curious kid on the beach,

Stops a second to consider me;

Then he goes back to business,

Of blowing bubbles,

And chasing them;

Before they disappear into thin air.