If Only Everything I Said In My Head Made As Much Sense Elsewhere

everything in my head is so clear

it slips between my ears smoothly, lithely 

without care

no revision

just bottled genius waiting

waiting to be poured from honey drenched lips 

the words inside my head are winning ones

worthy, wondrous, easy

easily making sense with ever turn

like a bullet train they speed

through synapses, in and out of paragraphs

its when they stumble out

all the tumbling hasn't left them smooth

all the rough edges catch

all the unfinished thoughts, w o r d s

lost connections missing meanings 

the birth is the messy part

whether to the ink drenched page or to your laboring ears

my words come messy, needing cleaning

scratching, tearing my hair, trying to sort it out

can it be sewn up

no mother's mirth in my mind

the words gleam less on the outside

appearing duller, uglier, ridiculous lying so on a sheet

they need clarifying, connecting, correcting

let me explain, I will say, to you or to myself

is it hubris and pride that made me ride such a thought high

or does every soul sound so speaking inside

does lightning truly reside in this thick thundercloud

or is this only a white mirror, showing inner fog by speaking aloud

perhaps

I see smoke

smoke of a battlefield

a back and forth fight fought in meaning and might

between mind and page, or ear, as may be

but in sallies and scrapes it grows strong 

between outpouring and the edit, the speaking and the silence, the flow and the redaction

a firmness forms, a victory of sorts

no longer bottled pride, neglected afterbirth

nor simply a mirror of shame

but a thing starting to shine on it own

that may one day carry its weight

useful to me, maybe to you

perhaps