If I could I'd take my brain out with a hook and wring it free of its ineptitude,
Make it a clear and solid structure
Massage it until it forgives itself
And it lights up as a single torch inside of my head

But right now the fires are several and disparate
As arcs of potential course through flesh
And I am left feeling crazy and tired.

Damming this dysfunctional soup are my wide, brown eyes
Doe-like and lapping at everything.

After it rains,
The water is muddy.

But on a beautiful day,
I guess it is clear.