Pic’n’mix
Do we leave parts of ourselves behind
each day as we walk through the high street?
Small pieces falling through the cracks in the pavement
A residue left for some psychic to find.
What would she say, what if we put the pieces together?
Would we make a new being, the way we joked
Put your boyfriend and mine together
We would have the perfect man.
Where do these ideas come from?
Some say you cannot think of anything
unless it has already been.
Like old thoughts running around a hamster wheel
The wheel stops, the thoughts scatter
waiting for an eager mind to seed.
No one knows where our thoughts come from
The answer to a problem just pops in from where?
Is there a psychic storehouse of just the right thought
for the right person?
What of those deadly black thoughts
that no one in their right mind would want visiting?
Is the inside of my head all mine
or a pic’n’mix from Woolworth’s?
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