Toothpaste

Sometimes the words come easy
with an instant consent
arranging themselves neatly
That sweet spot in my mind
of no resistance
I’m not nauseous yet

Sometimes the words
are not so agreeable,
intent on staying unspeakable,
spurting out in a senseless surge
But I cannot polish dirt
into crystal
The result?
Forced rhymes, syllables in broken time

But the worst
are the words that which crawl
when my mind has set to stall…
and all I have to show for it:
excessive words that won’t fit,
thoughts I can’t contain
but can’t explain
repeating the same thing with different words
over and over and over again…

Maybe I’ve been mistaken, then
I’m idle in the brain
and full of empty
Crumbled-up poetry
strewn about me like confetti
And at the end of it all,
feeling way too much exposure
My mind, a tube of toothpaste,
folded six times over

Now I’m choking and holding my waist,
from the nightly nausea
and chain-smoking aftertaste
Rushing to lock the door
and head for the store
to buy me some more
Goddamned
Toothpaste

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