SCRATCH MY BRAIN

I’ve got to scratch
my brain,
now and again,
so that
it won’t go flat
nor get too fat,

and so
my blood may flow
to keep my “go!” way past the get-go
through every
local, mind-entwining
and far-flung arm-leg plumbing
capillary,
artery and vein. . .

and the gunk
that I’ve unloaded
from my treasure trunk
can smudge
right from my eyes,
so I once more
my own world
can well supervise,

and those trusty eyes
of mine
can newly see ahead
across the aptly fed,
lush, grassy plain. . .

Until it’s time
to scratch my brain. . .
again. . .

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