A brain that has no boundaries

seems like something to be,

where marvels spring like crocuses

from guidances of bare a stitch,

a graft, however weak.

A brain that has begrudgeries,

a segregated sanctuary,

curling tempests, swirling winds,

an inhibition zone forgotten –

so when at last a raft is sent,

it shrinks and makes me weak;

it sinks beneath my weight,

beneath a mind not meant to be;

blows a breath and hopes a rolling wave returns the sea.

A brain that has no sympathy

sits down beside the mine,

which won’t explode or show itself;

it hasn’t any time.

A brain that laughs at others

who don’t think for thinking’s sake,

whose eyes can only see the burn

when nothing’s at the stake.

Another brain of lunacy

can try to take a hit –

but either one is far too gone

to see the other’s mitt;

so they remain the lockèd doors,

the hidden hearts, the hampered quips,

just a stutter and a whisper

incompletely skipped.