My mind: rainforest. Earthworms
dragging their thin bodies through

the mud, the pink folds of artificial
brain, the muscled soft of a speechless

tongue. How can I say any more?
To wish to be a wild horse racing

through the trees, unbothered by
the slap of bramble.

I sit in this chrysalis, muted as my
brain jungles itself into sleep, a

chorus of katydids raising their
horned songs into the void.

Sometimes my brain needs time
to sit in this loud. Sometimes a

worm is just a worm and a brain,
just a brain. How can I say any more?

When I was young, I disciplined
my tongue into fear, into listening.
 
If a tongue is a screaming thing, mine is
anything but natural, quaking like

gelatin, the muscled soft of
the unsaid. My mind: fuck

my mind. Earthquakes curve
themselves on this land like

jump ropes, the loud pink of
plastic organs, unhindered and

yelling freely into the clearing.

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