Loco-emotion (Day 23)

A fog forever
swimming through syrup in my mind
I just can't
make the exact phrase and sentence
stop, start, stop, start
My mind's gear continuously slipping
no, that's not right;
My mind's gears grind and stutter:
just can't get it right,
So of course it comes across bloody garbled
all-so-archaic and post-something pompous;
earlier formative words and styles
that were read
but not the type people now say
- now 'said' would have rhymed better there;
tangents are easier
because straight direction is hard.
Yet I only seem to get disproval and misunderstanding
when I need guidance and care.

My mind is a medieval steam train:
it just baffles people with how it looks
I long for someone who can ride it by instinct
and me,
simply moving by passion; not these apologies.