I don't really know
Why I find myself here.
I'm not in any particular mood-
In fact, it seems quite misconstrued-
To try to conjure up some prose
When sleep is needed clear
And I've nowhere to go
And no way to steer
And certainly an interlude
Draws ever near.

A randomness slowly but surely creeps
Into the thoughts I've compiled thus
As no filter can be founded.
And truly I'll be astounded
If by the end of these heaps
Of words you derive even a touch
Of sentiment which I wish to seep
As confusion is a must
For this nonsense to be grounded
And two cents made of this stuff.

My thoughts are all smashed
By mortar and pestle
Until all meaning is lost,
And heavy though the cost
Of this pulverizing bash
From my slumbering nestle
I think you'll get past,
My oddly shaped vessel
If dream thoughts are freely tossed
And you take on such a hassle.