A poem about how I get so many ideas that they are fairly overwhelming and constitute more subject matter than I could ever adapt into writing pieces.
I have a binging imagination and thus a mental hoarding problem.
What I need to do is host an estate sale in my heavy head
and invite those suffering from creative block in through the porches of my ears
to browse through the crowded unorganized trove of
curious coinages, precious epiphanies and junky minutiae
and take away inspiration while uncluttering my poor mind.