Stream in search of poem

Ramble it out, out upon the glowing square screen of intoxicating ever connection. This where i have my ideas curtailed, or captioned or christened. Damn this persistent pattern of thinking, i think, i think, i think it gets in the way, it creates incredible mandible tension and evaporates my sleep like dew dew drops in the midday. I fight fights that I don’t entirely own, but I’m working towards a kind of kind ambivalence about most of the things that I needn’t bother with. I cannot write a poem in this house. I cannot write a poem with a mouse.  You there! Poem! Your costume doesn’t fool me, but it does only lead me to witty associative and alliterative words. Get me under that sweeping veil, let me put your face to the name of something entirely obscure but strikingly true just the same.

I have about six different terrific ideas for my near future, and they tickle my insides like impending sneezes. Until the time comes, what can one do? Plenty, as I told my friend Dale today:

Look at your own eyes in the hallway mirror

save wine corks,

pun,

lick salt off your/his/her skin/margarita glass,

eat yogurt,

remember each other, sweetly,

frown when you feel like it.