You don't choose your words carefully enough

"You don't choose your words carefully enough."

"Think it!"--

"My eyeball thought it..."--

my eyeball thought it
and when the splinters turned
to wood the closed books
shelved, to me unblanketed
and asleep, waking in a dream
my eyeball thought it and
the page ate some ink
shaking itself wet wanting
to spray the walls black white
with teeth and gum and spit
and the pages turned leaving
my notebook on my face
to face with horror eaten up
toes to tails, my eyeball dripped
inky black smears.

"Think it," I said,
and my eyeball thought it
having seen splat onto the page
what better way to see,
my eyeball thought it
was like flipping the sockets around
or turning them inside themselves
in one perceived shot
of visioned, seen, sawed
nightmared agression flipped
dripped, dropped, seen
from the eyeball,
who saw it,
who thought it.

"Oh, I don't know.
It's a process. I just
thought the thing and
wrote it down."