The Open Mic in My Brain
My subconscious was working on
harmony lines till the wee hours,
singing the same snippets of songs to me
over and over and over.
At 4:00 a.m. the snow plow across the road beepingly took its turn
In this open mic I call my brain,
scraping up my last nerve with the snow,
apparently all in reverse gear.
And as one more string of disconnected thought winds its way
through synapses and dendrons,
my brain screams “Quit it!” and I awake,
head pounding, ears ringing from
nightly noises, dream fragments, and the
sound of my own heart beating.