Thoughts Like Cannonballs
A cannonball/
Had the gall/
To just have to fall/
In my room, distracting all/
My rampant thoughts/
Animos-/
Ity grabs my palm/
As laughter drops/
Away, telling me the past has dawned/
And the battles on/
The rapid knocks/
On the already active box/
Holding this spastic flock/
Of manic lost/
Brain cells together are the blasting cross/
Of a mastodon's/
Footfalls and a rattling glock/
That shoots stammering shots/
Inside of glass and blots/
Of ink, I passed them off/
As if they answered all/
My questions just so I could stand and block/
The adderall/
From slamming law/
And disorder/
On this hoarder/
Of shitstorms and/
Clipped formal/
Eccentricities/
Left to sit with me/
I miss normal/
The aftershock/
Is always blissful/
It's calm and simple/
When I'm not the missile/
Headed straight for an honest crippled/
Talk with issues/
That harm and misuse/
My fallen quiver/
To haunt and intrude/
On my pause from this loose/
Arduous booth/
Cause it's an ominous noose/
Hanging over me, it's obvious who/
Built these walls and crypts too/
I'll eclipse you/
While bottling clues/
To help me slaughter these proofs/
Because they're false prophets/
And my armed logic/
Knocks rockets/
From the toppling roofs/
Because I lack trust/
In the man from/
The other side of the mirror, I have such/
A damn fuss/
That ramps up/
When I try to match up/
The strands of/
Broken memories/
With strokes of death in me/
That throw the lettering/
To the forming sentences/
Back up/
Into the black clutch/
Of mashed blood/
And crashed love/
The attack of/
Past cuts/
Makes my amped up/
Mind clam up/
And I laugh cause/
It means the grass brushed/
My face for an instant/
And the distance/
Between my vision/
And remission/
Was slammed shut/
But these damn cuts/
Won't scab done/
So I grab guns/
To light a fire under my ass one/
More time and stand up/
To stab some/
Life into these drab crumbs/
Of recollection I have spun/
Up from the webs of my smashed front/
To awaken in the eye of the storm/
And I am reborn/
And life is a warmth/
That slices the coarse/
Lining/
I'd liken/
To the plight of a corpse/
Trying to force/
This lightning to pour/
Like rain is to fight with the cord/
That might be a warn-/
Ing to take a respite and reform/
My mind's old velour/
Pattern/
And be grander/
Than a title of sorts/