Creating things is great.
It’s wonderful,
But memorizing,
Even if it’s a speech you wrote,
Now that’s a kick in the ***.
There’s no escape.

You’re so contained in
This that has already
Been created.
The more you memorize,
It’s like toy timber logs
Being slowly stacked up
Around you.

That monster of a controller
Is creating a monster if a log cabin
Sealing me in
With the snow piling up
Erasing me to be
On the other side
Where all is the same.

I want to make a purple incision
Right behind my ear to the
Top of my head,
And gently pull out my brain,
Leave it on the counter
Next to the grapes,
And then just rest.