Where’s the bloody off switch on this thing?

Brain-Transparent.png

When I write

Every day

I am honing a craft

And I am growing a raft

for my thoughts

which carry them from me

to you

And I am beginning to understand

the power

the energy

of words

so they have become WORDS

not

words

to me anymore

And my brain is organising this process

perfecting it

refining it

plucking and choosing

and learning

which ones I’m using

and needing

and requiring

rewiring

because that is what the brain does

when we hand it a task

it perfects it

Well mine certainly isn’t there yet

a long way to go

which I remind it

when it comes dragging its feet

to me

handing me

empty things

I couldn’t find it

the brain whispers mournfully

I couldn’t find the words

Here

Would you like an emoticon?

No!

Piss off and do your job properly!

Then my heart jumps in

wisely

kindly

Reminding me

to

come down here

Lets be clear

The brain is the storehouse the refinery

it is cool

grey

literally

literary

a great library

of everything that I have read

long narrow winding corridors

storage

It opens and shuts

with extraordinary speed

it retrieves

and it is learning – to be faster

so as I write poetry

instead of searching with futility

it is finding them quickly

those things that I need

mostly

those words

And I don’t sit here staring at the wall

instead across my keyboard fall

my fingers

racing

spacing

returning

tapping out the words

but my heart

needs no words

is not cool

clinical and grey

instead it is a huge raw space

blood pounding

lungs beside it

breathing in and out

and when I go

down there

the brain follows

trailing

calling

“I say, do you need any spare

double yous?”

WWWWW…

“No thank you

that is all”

I am in thrall

“shhhhhh

When I need you I’ll call

switch off brain

switch off”

 

 

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