So Uptight My Words Are Tied

 
My thoughts have no words, 
for the paper to grip.
They fall from my brain,
like a preempted drip.
The drip's occurance causes, 
the next's hesitation.
Like sewage in old sewers,
non-flow bilious gestation.
When the buildup's at limit
without a release,
the danger involved 
will steadily increase.
Pushing harder attempting 
an attempt to sling thoughts.
The pressure's steady rise ties, 
while I'm untying the knots.
With an inspirational drip,
a drop of hartshorn
my mind should spill words,
like roses grow thorns.
Starting the flow of creation, 
yes,
for conserving my being.
Metaphorically un-bound, 
now,
my thoughts begin freeing.
Hartshorn my white rabbit
hound,
has me up and running.
Maybe I would write more...
unwound,
if I were only that cunning.