My mind is running away from me.
I think I need a pre frontal lobotomy.
Thoughts that are stuffed in every place,
Wedged in cracks or any empty space.
I need some time. Time to think
Or I may have to turn to drink.
The sight of children playing
brings memories from the past,
of tire swings
or throwing rocks
and days that last and last.
Riding bikes, with fenders gone
while racing through the street
with nickel cones, bubble gum
and sockless, shoeless feet.