Dancing on my Arm

My head sinks unto my knees,

Filled with too many thoughts, with apples and oranges and bananas,

All unsorted and heavy with no place to sneeze.


But those thoughts stampede down my arm to the tips of my fingers,

Easily lying down and snuggling with the paper.

Then my head, like an unfettered balloon, rises and nods side to side.


When I look back to the thoughts,

I like to call out to them, and they like to hop up on my arm and dance.

Once again proud, I watch them crawl back into their well-deserved cots.

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