My brain is a bird
building a nest
Gathering up imagination like twigs
out of make believe
Weaving itself in promiscuous circles
to stop it.
"There are no eggs yet
There is no sense in building this
It feels like talking to a bird.
My voice, a fleeting distraction,
A far off whisper in the trees.
to slow it down.
I take away its imagination,
its make believe,
I focus on what's next.
This nest is ready for no one.
It will be this way for a while.