I Must

I can’t stop.

The first step is admitting

you have a problem but -

what happens when you

don’t want to

go to that rehab?

A drug that enhances

rather than detracts

from the thoughts

rolling raucous

and loud and gloriously

nonsensical in a slideshow

of color and sound

you can’t quite hear but

is somehow still there

and you sit yourself down

and let that nebulous thing

of imagination take wing

and suddenly the chaos

is order.

Is character.

Is setting.

Is plot.

And you just bite

at the bit

and you prance

through that pasture

of crazy ideas

that you just want a chance

to put down on paper

if not for any other reason

then for you just to get

those squealing

and laughing

and screaming

and crying

thoughts to come tum-bl-ing

out of your head.