Purple Shearling

Thinking drives you into the ground
straight down spiraling thoughts–
tricks sticking in your head
little words little worries
harrass and whip my head until
its numb–drink tea and see
colors sing songs to tame
the bobwire fence in my head.

Thoughts help you, hurt you
dignify you–layers of thoughts
tricking me, need to breathe
and kick them out of the way.

There’s no more room for my thoughts
just panicked work-stricken thoughts foam
around my head and ears my head aches
from thoughts dark stones jumbling,
bouncing and hitting against one another.

Where are the sea green polished
glass thoughts that let light through?
Heavy solid circles.

Thinking can wreck you, control
the thinking–it can empower or debilitate
you. A canon of thoughts booming in my sleep–
I toss and turn, wrapping myself around each thought.

Where is the peaceful sleep that pads my head in gauzy slumber?

Where is the intelligent thinking–the challenge, deciphering a code,
the philosopher’s thought?

The rat only thinks about turning
the wheel to get the cheese.
More wheel–more cheese.
A wheel of cheese. Can I pick
which kind? Perhaps camembert
or brie or a nice smoked gouda
to bury my head–letting the soft,
cool weight push me down onto the ground.