I’ve cleaned all the floors,   

I’ve cleaned out my purse,   

I cleaned out the bathroom,  

but there’s one place way worse.  

 

My brain needs spring cleaning.  

It’s crammed full of facts.   

Are some true, I wonder,  

Or the whole lot just trash?

 

Something to ponder,   

as you’re lying in bed.  

Is theory more useful  

or a hole in your head?  

 

Wrappers in my wrinkles,  

cobwebbed synapses.   

My thoughts move slower   

than frozen molasses.  

 

I’m stuffed, soft and stale,   

I’ve the Rust Belt’s red rust,  

tip me over to find  

the desert’s own dust.    

 

In spring I’ll start sweeping,  

Cortexes, lobes galore,  

I’ll sweep from noon to night,  

then sweep a little more.  

 

I’ll invite back old friends,   

Fancy and Delight,    

call Curiosity,  

meet Beauty for a bite.  

 

We’ll spend a night dancing  

tell the tallest of tales.   

Each one, oil for lamplight.  

Each one, wind for the sails.