the truth is,
i'd never thought about my thoughts
until you
asked me what i was thinking
and i had no answer.

really
what could i have told you?
all i know is that there are
a thousand leaky faucets in me and
a thousand overflowing sinks
and that my head pounds to the beat of
stampedes in south africa
of traffic jams and the
screeching tearing twisting
of fenders
(and other such parts)
of the buzz of construction sites and wasps,
of waves beating against rock,
incessant.
(i'm really just
missing all the crucial components
and my skull leaks thoughts in
the ugliest symphony known to man.)