Break and husk thoughts and ideas that, without reason, I smashing them like nuts into my head – mortar with pig iron pestle.
Lay and hatch thoughts and ideas, and younglings, instead of fly, I keep them under latch in my head – cage of neurons, dendrites and axons.
Knead and raise thoughts and ideas but let me tempted, and without reason, instead of bake them, I play “of thieves and bobbies” with bullets of dough shot from my head – automatic gun.
Pull kernels out of thoughts and ideas but I put not them to spring and hundredfold harvest to bring, I chain them necklace that my poor mind who walks nomad through my head – ballad to put it neck in a night with moon and than to catch in a fairies dance and hungry of blue to soar in the stars.
and ideas are shrieking through my mind as lost migratory birds in an autumn of rains. and ideas – arrow-shaped cranes with wet wings – fall all at once in my head – moorland of thistle and mud.
Bevies of ideas and useless thoughts surround my mind how ravens give wheel carrions to be through my head – waste land by boiling and winds.
and ideas go round like a pack of wolves with empty bellies through my head – winter of frost, winter of sleet with my mind thoroughly frozen by fright and a biting wind.
Pick bunches of thoughts and ideas caressed by the sun of mind in bacchanal vineyards planted on encephalic hills. I squish them and expect to get wine and get drunk in my head – tavern where the smoke knife just cut it and air is sourbitter.
Fog of thoughts and ideas rises from my mind as darkness on swamps in late autumn. Nothing to see not hear anything all still is, just the small brain flickers in my head – gray curtain between movement and inertia.
Slacked thoughts and ideas are resting on benches of mind, nothing pulling them with hands and teeth, I can’t them gather at work to bring to get something good from my head – chaos where it lacks a poleax and a stump of elm.