A Word Salad Sprouts In My Brain Poem by Patti Masterman

A word salad sprouts in my brain, over and over:
Televisions and radios playing loudly, just till you find
By a single glance, they are not really turned on at all.

The commericals and talking, the songs and laughter
Are not really there, and the steps out in the garage
Belong to nobody, that's walking there.

Voices argue inside my head, but it's no one;
It's just the busy mind, ever wanting to define
The stray neurons that fire, into something
That once upon a time was recognizable.

Or perhaps it is all just a tape recording, replaying
Everything over the years; but who can tell
Where the microphone switch was tripped, or why?

And happy it is to realize, after so many years
That these sprouts could never grow into a real plant.