i trapped a little thought in my head,
and i kept it captive for longer than would be considered reasonable,
not sharing it with the rest of the class,
because they don’t deserve this little thought in my head,
though i’m fairly certain neither do i,
but i’ll call the thought steve,
and we’ll be best friends,
just don’t ask where i put that thought in my head,
since everything up there keeps getting lost, broken, and bruised
it’s not that i don’t know what to say half the time,
it’s just that i’m unwilling
to sully my good thoughts
with the ugliness of language
and have whatever i say be (mis)interpreted
by some linguist with a background in
fudging up the definition of words,
or something like that
digging through the trash to find something
worth putting down,
bereft of thought,
stolen creativity,
masquerading moments of clarity bound and gagged
in the trunk
to be taken out to the woods
and executed,
where all shit thoughts go
Fred Aiken Writing 