I'd give you a piece of my mind

if I knew which one was not indispensably

holding together the genga puzzle of my precarious being

thoughts the post-it notes of our metamorphosizing essence

ethereal as that one checkered argyle sock you catch glimpses of

sitting in life's laundromat watching yourself tumble fall disappear

thoughts never held unless written down

I'd loan you the voice in my head dictating

for twelve milliseconds if you could stand it

thoughts not so much the words

but the space between them

where you fill in the blanks