Step it up, step it out, shut it down and spit it out. Words are only the thought you put behind them, and you thought you could remind them but you couldn’t really find them, the right ones. SO you substituted phrases, created new translations with wicked alliteration, allusions you got crazed on, and went clear around the bend. And rent from your brain the pain your feel each day comes to play across the battle screen to be gleaned by the eyes and judged by disguise… All by perfect strangers. And if it couldn’t get much stranger. You’ve done this all your life. And it’s right, all right? to be an open book, to every look you shook your purse out like Ally Sheedy, always just that greedy or needy. For the shock and appall or the lock-jaw in awe of the balls you must posses. But it’s not possession, it’s just unrest. And this the best I can do and such little notice, or haven’t you noticed, I only just wrote this
To clear my mind.