My brain has been given an enema.
Words pop out quicker that I can write.
No meaning or correlation,
Nothing in sight. Just write
As fast as I can and clear
The clutter, in my mind.
Nice words, cuss words, perhaps some kind.
It matters not, just don't leave
Words behind. It makes no sense
As words flow free. I can't think
Of what they will be. Simple words
Or ones quite complex. It matters
Not one little bit. I do need
To write slower and clearer, if I am
Going to read these later. It may
Be a folly to see, what these words
Mean to me. I make no attempt
To rhyme or tell you it's good for
Mankind. No lie on anything for
You to hear as I desperately claw
Out these words and be free of all
Hidden thoughts or when it goes,
Emotional dither, the word hither, tries
To appear. I wish I could just shut
Off this spewing of words, that mean
So little or just let them go somewhere
In the middle. Goodness me, she used to
Say; the words are prolific on this bright day.
Enough my hand is cramping up quite a bit so
I'm thinking it is time to now quit.
What gibberish I write, without any doubt.
I won't be running or whooping about
But I will sit silently, under a tree
And thank the Lord, I have thee.
What an outburst of words gushing
While I write fast to grab the words rushing
Down to the paper, here on the desk
And not as jumbled up as all the rest.