a running mind

My mind is not merely an open paragraph
with sentences that abide all regular syntax
it runs parallel in fragments and intersect
if they should or crash at different times

we created language because the mind
is too voluminous for one; too lengthy
that each word and semantic could be
repeated and make new cosmos
that rhyme or invite dismay

when we look at the sun in us
it can also be the void
the planets in it seem to be easily
punched by stray asteroids
or collided by manoeuvred ones

do we not destroy thoughts?
start our own ice ages and eras?
neatly following no definitive chronological order
that we can map so definitely yet still our gut
knows that space where we felt buried alive
gasping for air; or when we were found from the ocean
of ourselves.

My mind is not a paragraph; it is a circus of words
a sanctum for old dreams and libraries of unopened books
twisted with vines and shaped like picturesque gardens

My mind is sleeps like a seal on the bedrocks
sweeps down like a hawk

My mind, my mind…oh how I have inherited you?
disown you and merit you; make me singular and plural
near to a black hole only to be anchored still in a home of stars.