brainwringing

pursuant to not going gentle, nor gently,

nor genially into that goodbadindifferent night,

i challenge and chivvy my sulky brain

to produce, which is why you are reading this.

.

it had been a long day.

i told my brain we needed a new poem, pronto.

my brain said, “i got nothin.'”

“that is a lot of hooey,” i shot back,

“you got plenty,

but you are lazy

and I shall have to wring you out.”

i reached into my head

with my third and imaginational hand

and single-handedly pulled my brain

[popping sound]

out of my head,

held its spongy form before my eyes,

and squeezed.

.

a few droplets–

cherry gumdrop-flavored teardrop-shaped droplets–

oozed from my brain and I shook them free,

compelling them to hang suspended

and reveal their contents

when touched.

.

i touched the leftmost cherry teardrop

and it said in a chimy voice

desire and reluctance

conduct civil war. the trick will be to write that one

without revealing whom you desire.

i touched another.

get inside the head of an ICE recruit.

another.

a wave slaps the viewpoint character in the face

and she gets cold saltwater in her nose

and she cries saltwater,  becoming daughter and mother to the sea.

i stuff my brain back into my head.

i drink the cherry teardrops.

I stop writing for now.