I am a messy thinker.
The sentences of my essays spill
margins with words scribbled in and crossed out
My penmanship looks like the belly tracks of snakes heading home in the sand after sunrise in June
Or the scratches on my clarinet case,
My line work spraying graphite
a library with no system
Untitled books from untracked sources
Back rooms filled with novels
Stacks on the reading desks
All check outs by chance,
Each idea occurring and
Slipping my mind immediately
Lost in the clutter
The absolute seas
vortexes and riptides
of intangible mental processes and churning identities respectively,
spinning me on my heels.
For each stream of thought redirected
For each reservoir of knowledge dammed up
each shining concept.
Now I can
peer through the corridors of my mind,