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.