Static on the Line

I was telling the cat about a house in a field

when the words just curdled and died in my mouth.

The logic of the sentence decided to yield

and the whole train of thought headed rapidly south.

It’s a tangled ball of Christmas lights in a box,

a mess of green wires and bulbs that are blown.

I’m picking at knots and the tumblers of locks,

trying to find a signal I can call my own.

Everything is a hum, a low-voltage buzz,

like a frayed power cord plugged into the wall.

I can’t remember what the purpose of the thinking was,

or if I’m even the one doing the thinking at all.