Why I Write, Part x+218: It's a Helluva Drug (Stimulant Mix)

My mind moves, meanders missionlessly,

Motor-mouthing, milling, mucking, making,

Mastering the mundane, mustering mystical metaphors,

Until I get stuck on a word I don't have a word for,

So I start picking and picking and picking and picking

and picking at whichever part of my mind is sticking

Until I the unknown out from under the ubiquitous usual,

Until I get it right.

Until I can chill out.

Until I can cool down.

Until I come down.