My mind is like the acoustics in my eardrums,

battering rams in the name of sanity,

like aimless walking,

like the golden flowers clinging onto August’s edge.

My mind is like straws to grasp at. 

My mind is like deception,

  the swan.

It is like the calloused fingertips

of a pencil.

It is like leaves pulled underfoot

  by autumn’s sentence.

It is like the dog

hesitating at the top of the stairs,

like the leaf

unfurling on a warm week between snow. 

My mind is like the freshly mowed grass

  prickling in defense.  

My mind is like the smell of coffee,

the roars of piano, the clicks of buttons, the billows

of steam atop carrots. 

My mind is like 2 pm sunshine

  in spring. 

My mind is like the corner, 

  like sitting in the back,

  like wondering. 

  Like doubting.

My mind is like fire

in a drought. 

It is like

the shadow behind the lighthouse.

My mind is like the sinking stone,

        submerged

scalp bobbing, fingers scraping,

  holding nothing as the water deepens,

catching midnight’s spark of dark, infinite sea,

see?