Cluttered.

Reaching for a light switch as it 
transforms into a ferocious beast, 
words fly from my chaotic mind,
at record speed, then slip out 
from between artificial teeth.

I boil water in egg yolk, 
then eat a banana peel, 
put my pants on backwards, 
and fail to separate what's fake 
from what I once knew to be real. 

Elvis wails as Ella croons
inside my head, the whole day through,
and I sit, confused about the way 
that Billie Holiday could somehow
sing the colour blues.

Horns outside my window transport
me back to safari elephants,
as I become convinced that they've
returned to give me a taste
of my own medicine.

In my return to innocence,
where everything old is new,
I stop to smell the flour,
for life is far too short to spend 
each day retightening loose screws.