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Rated: E · Poetry · Personal · #2090188
A short poem about thoughts.

Safe in the gray of my old noodle,
in back of hungry eyes,
within the kit of brain’s kaboodle
there live these thoughtful guys.

They commandeer my brainwave pattern;
they frame the night with pearl.
They take me to the rings of Saturn
where comets wend and whirl.

These thoughts play in Corpus Callosum*,
and there they strum guitars.
More notions glitter, sweet and wholesome,
blue light from distant stars.

They sprint to one side then the other;
grand mixture in the brain.
A piece of toast right next to sugar--
whole wheat and candy cane.

They even whisper with things to see;
yes, even as I nap.
Yet when I’m awake they startle me
just like a thunderclap.

Impulses flow to connect each part--
a sonnet next to steel.
The logic lives to regard the heart,
and that is how I feel.


*Corpus Callosum: a large bundle of nerves connecting both sides of the brain.

24 Lines
Writer‘s Cramp
7-14-16

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