Thinker’s Breath

I was

addicted to thinking

–and at first–

it was manageable.

a wee think

to get through

the wee hours

found me

fresh and untested

the morning after

–but it blossomed

in the manner of gin

rum-i-nations

staining knows

cheek

–and timidity–

all

and before I knew it

–and dissected the knowing–

I was

way over

FDA

RDA

–up all nights, thinking

–channeling verse

as sincere as

stumpin’ politicians rhetoric

&

chewing mints

those hard mornings after

–disguising

breath foul

w self-talk unspoken

–litany & lists

berate & beseech–

that marched like elephants

through my

thunk-drunk mind

–cirrhosis of the brain

half a dozen steps away.