use your words

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 i think, somehow, that my thoughts have got away from my head and have wung their weights way up up, there. i can only see their tips and curl; i only can see them at all, if i squint hard enough. something foggy forms but, they say, it burns away by one or two oh clock. my thoughts are gnats by now, they spray in rivulets from the tip of my pen and crawl in sprawls over my notebook, so i shut it fast and wonder if killing them makes them stay. memory is murder, anyways. and once i remember to look up the flock of my ancient rime have scattered into indecipherable bits about water water everywhere (and was it alone, alone, all all alone)- by now they are gnats in notes or albatrosses in distress or pterodactyls in memory of all those thoughts that flew and died without help, forever ago.  because everything burns off and these tiny black cinders blow away, and when you ask me what's on my mind i can only look at you with camera eyes and answer without words, clicks and rustles for the fog i watched vanish.

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