My brain on crack

Its almost laughable the way I go about my day. All the normal things, the making PPJs and hanging up tossed aside clothes, and reading that in which I have no interest. It never fails me that every few minutes distraction comes. I stop in front of the coat closet, just standing there. Coat in hand smiling about that one night, we had a bat in the house. Kristen lying there screaming as we tried to set it free. I put the coat up and walk to the kitchen. There, the words come. Like something in me spitting syllables, spilling single lines that together make no sense. "The tigers mane is about him" "bare feet adornment" "the pungent smell of shit lies with me" the words of my life. Its how I think. It is embarrassing to reveal my naked brain. I wonder if one day there will be a researcher who hooks me up to a machine, measures my brain waves and later shows a film to sixth grade students about me, entitled "This Is Your Brain on Crack.""but I don't use crack" I will insist. And it won't matter what i say.  Some days I go without these words, and words revealed are more ordinary and plain. Yet other days- it's all I hear inside me. Words in their own unruly way. Now and again I try to convey them in hopes that one day I will learn to express them. Maybe even write them. Compose them in a scheme that makes sense to the exterior world, outside my brain. But for now I am okay with being the only one who gets them, who hears them as they are. To me, these words unwind, spoken just in time.