Chatter

slow this going,
like water through sand,
deathly flowing,
finding
the browning bloom,
and always, just over,
another crowded room
of thought
that's stuck and thick
with cause.
why always so-
that unthinking's
a fantastic trick?
and me? curator
of such a space,
a mind without pause!
i'd like to know,
for a moment's death,
how to still the shebang,
if only,
(the dim boat approaching)
to catch my breath.