from all my thoughts. So heavy
it might slide off. My body can’t support
such a prodigious mass. It feels like a 200-gallon
aquarium of toads being gassed.  And when one thought

rises above the other a shot goes
off. And the **** thing splats, like it was
put on high-speed in a blender – I have toad frappe.
It’s so opaque I couldn’t clean out the sides if I had a rake.

The whole thing congeals,
for goodness sake. But the insidious
croaking doesn’t go away. In fact, the decibels
increase by the hour each day. It’s madness I say. But
madness is genius.