Just can’t shake the groggy feeling. and so feel stuck just just stuck just stuck just stuck
what. can’t jog it loose.
when the thing gets stuck like a worn out leg.
that thing be so miserly
or yes. in other words, chances are good
creating one problem by solving another, this is how the road to hell is paved with..
in other words, contrariwise.
getting all the cruft and nonsense out of my brain. so I can focus on the good stuff
but what is the good stuff?
or is there any way to think that isn’t broken into a million pieces. with all the scattered
brains flashing away in the distance, or rather like a semaphore in the hands of a master
with no one to see with understanding
this is how the writing in sand goes, just ape that typing as it monkeys about. and then type some more and type and type.
oh my, where’s all that typing coming from, those hollows of the mind where dread frogs grow?
or some bedeviled cake in a saucepan full of bellows gallows or something like that
hiding out in the corncrake won’t solve it, nor will figuring at sums.
flashes of insight. grown up all the way and still can’t shake that she hyena loose.
the impostor perches on the kern, chuckling and eating snap crackle, whatever that is
some damn thing, munching away, with crumbs spilling all over the front
don’t eat so much popcorn if you’re going to wear black like an undertaker.
undertakers don’t snack, or so i have read.
especially not when they’re wheeling out their metaphorical or literal coffin for the end
juggling terms in the head, or wracking them round the stew pipe,
these days no one has any sense or maybe
it’s just meee.
the monkey hanging from the tree, the god tree, the sephiroth or the clambake or
whatever those old ones call it
don’t shake that tree too hard.
you’ll never know what coconuts come raining down, because one will surely have bonked
you on the head.