On the process of creation:

Brain Juice

Distilled thoughts which slop
down on paper like black mud
gritty and viscous
The wade through them
Delicious or sickening, I can't decide
Slats of silt so dark and sweet,
and wide across my vast insides.
Coalescent conceptions wait for their final sauté
A steamy ballet or melting sorbet of the
blind writings of my future protégé
A me which can wipe the left overs away

Brain juices unrefined
break free often from my mind
Tart, bitter, perverse.
Greasy confusion which in the foam rises
through the whirling mentalities of which they're comprised
Spit out on your face, on your hands
and your ego: the frosting of obscene indignation
Stripping my muses of fresh contraband
But everyone yells out false appreciation
for my cognitive custards
As I vomit a slurry of dream elementals
That no one's supposed to understand.