Blockhead Poem by Kevin Maroney

Brick walls rise around my mind,
through such turgid waters do I try to find,
my thoughs slip like buttered fish,
so much more my thoughts delish.

What few I find so much the better,
yet still my head feels as in a fetter.
The mist so thick, like curdled milk,
each day I dare to risk.

Yet perhaps the turn's not worth the game,
for such a paltry picture to frame,
this red vision, like a saint divine,
skips in fission, gives not a sign.

Each worm that wheels away from me,
wriggles as if in an inaccessible verdant sea.