I think my brain is melting
it’s making quite a mess
every time I click my pen
I leak out on my desk

I’d wipe it up with paragraphs
and turn the page anew
but suddenly I’m drowning in
a hippocampus brew

Sometimes it’s like a faucet,
I can turn it off and on
or else it’s like a hurricane,
or sprinkler on the lawn

such unrestrainability
I deal with every day
I cannot dam this language lake—
it spills and stains the page!

and the flow of inspiration
will seep through rusty pipes
it doesn’t stop for heartache,
just congeals to terser type

I wonder if the doctors
could diagnose just what I do
I’d like to know what cogs control
my constant mental spew

but even if they named it
and found a perfect cure
I’d rather steep a while more
in my literate liqueur.