A Better Head

by Anton Holten Nielsen

I often knock on my own thinking skull hammering for my thoughts to come through they sizzle

between the cracks make their unhurried way to my

tear ducts not purified but drenched in bad grammar,

blank stares and the feeling that I could talk forever and the world would be the same my heavy head does not wear a crown it is preoccupied by its own weight the hours of sleep needed to function and how it always registers

phenomena too late to react with anything other than a nod and smile

the most cathartic moment is the eternal memory of resting at night on a silent pillow with eyes inwards

governing thoughts like a shepherd shoving faces, words and noise into non-existent pens

and wishing for

a better head

in my next life