Self-maddening perpetual pep talk
Who could drink these thoughts & walk straight?
Innumerable amounts squeeze through
The infinitesimal feed
I catch but two or three
Hold them for a moment –
I send them back from whence they came.
Hungover sentience prepares
A worthy meal
Warm buttered consciousness
Evenly spread over crispy, toasted mind
Inevitably thrown golden side down
Onto malting carpet
I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity.
Perhaps if self-sabotage was a
I wouldn’t have so much time
On my hands.
Less on my mind.
& something in my pockets.
Perhaps for now
I’ll replace my carpet with