Out of My Head

Did I mislay my bell ringing skull? Thoughts are out of school they run into fields of white mice they multiply - fruitlessly. Many mock me in front of my other more head-ridden selves. Got out of my sleep with a crowbar and shovel, mislaid the brain I had yesterday or was it the day before? Distant chomping sounds in a rabbit hole. You can think too much, you can spread yourself like marmalade over a hundred sticky memories. Problems appear but only to be unsolved, just mummified in a facsimile of an afterlife. I once had a screw-top, it kept the thinking down to a few finger bones. Rampant are the curly-tailed nibblers. All is well, for I dream in the emptiness of a bell ringing skull, one placed somewhere else and far out of sight.