Thoughts
By J. Moors
In images I see in books
The brain is smooth, rounded
A large united mass
Each curved ridge perfectly snug
Why then, does mine feel
Shattered
A mess of pieces,
Sharp edges
Fragmented beyond repair
Each corner trying to fit
My thoughts cannot flow
Smoothly across nerves
But jump about
Searching, stopping
Stuck
In an incoherent mess of matter