Made From Concentrate

Today,

I wish I had

Talked about

How much

I don’t

Concentrate

When I definitely

Should

And

Could.

Half of what

I think

Of

Ends up

On 

A

Page

Somewhere,

Or floating

In my head

For

Days,

Unaware.

For thoughts tend

To be my

Gateway

To the unknown,

In a world

Where

The reality

Is faster

Than

Fiction.

My mind spews

Out things

Just as quickly

As it

Redacts

Them.

I write

My thoughts

In

Pen,

Only to find them

Erased

From memory

Like

Pencil.

My brain

Wanders

As easily

As

It

Focuses

On the meaningfully

Meaningless,

And seemingly

Meaningful.

I seem to forget

What I’ll remember

Days

Later.

I always try to

Be

Original

But I find that 

I

Steal

My

Own

Poems

And

Post

Them

Shamelessly.

How easily

I wander

Even

As

I

Write

This.

How hard

It

Is

To

Concentrate

When

Focus

Is all

I

Can

Think

About.

The stream

Of my brain’s

Thoughts

Is quite

Like the

Rivers

That flow

Through the

World,

Bringing

Transportation,

Excavation,

Water,

And

Wonder.

We wander

As

We

Wonder,

And

I certainly

Shall

Always

Plunder,

For the 

Gold

Mine

Of opportunities

That 

Come from

Concentration

At it’s

Highest

Concentrate.

Just as the juice

We

Drink,

Our brain

Is

Made

From

Concentrate.

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