I can't think either...(go figure)

The truth is. I am a little turned off. The season's activities are pervasive, the very colors flash and repel the good eye blind. I hold my words above the page afraid they will land wrong. My pen amounts to itself, and shakes. I worry the sky. People keep calling for help. This and the door threatens to receive unwanted knocks. Knocks once wanted, but I can't concentrate now. And how will the servants do on their exams? Of course I have many other things to concern myself with, but I think of them. As I have so little time to study for my own. I am too distracted by appointments and obligation. And how will the money travel, from angry hand to greedy fist and back? And how will the landfills get much needed rest? Rotting rendering churn under the sun; the heavy smell; best evidence of us. O Holiday, you are a guilty time, charged and dangerous. Our crime, which is also our nature? We don't need forensics, and yet mirrors, as honest as they might practically be, only look honest. The same songs. The same songs. The same songs. Ring like loose change in a breast pocket. One more year.