These thoughts crash into one another without a simple apology-

No pretenses in nerve endings,

No need for manners.

Politeness is reserved for the bored.

These thoughts crescendo with anger,

Pulse staccato with disgust.

These thoughts forgo their predetermined rhythms and set foot anew.

On a new moon,

These thoughts will harmonize over curiosity

And make me want to live eternal.

These thoughts weave their way into my hair without a permission slip.

They try to besiege my tongue.

They open my throat wide

And teach me perfect pitch.

These thoughts,

I realize,

Own bodies of their own.

They manifest in shades of blues,

And reds,

And yellows.

These thoughts have transformed kaleidoscope into a verb.