My mind feels like a garbled mess

My mind feels like a garbled mess Within the bounds of righteousness The sloppy thoughts have come to call They breach my sanity’s outer wall And slip down through my mouth to say If I feel like it should be that way And I know something stupid ‘s been said again In the game of expressing I never win So send them back, I tell myself Stow half-finished thoughts back on the shelf To be complete before they stray Onto a page another day But don’t worry for me, I know my heart Will keep on being far from smart Emotions beat my logic out Raw power, you see, has lots of clout Good intentions, they say, will bring you to Hell, And if it’s so, my intentions smell Of a good intent but terrible timing Like verses of poems that require rhyming Iambic pentameter all afoul Assonance going on the prowl Or foolish rhymes that make no sense For me to dish out, in other words dispense My mind feels like a garbledy gook Hung high aloft upon a hook No man can fetch it down for me, But maybe a woman for the task I’d see. Mark Burton Friday, December 29, 2000  0300 hours