Christmas cleaning of shelves and floors,
Tables and windows, sheets and doors.
I’m done, no more I’ll trip over stuff,
Cleaning helped and it wasn’t too tough.
Now I’ll do the same to my own head,
Chucking out thoughts, long since dead.
Grooming the pathways of signals of thought,
Finding every hidden, slightly sore spot.
Undoing knots of thoughts going nowhere,
Forgetting old embarrassments, like that one dare.
Reminding myself that niceness is nice,
Towards others is good but only it won’t suffice.
I will treat myself well whenever I can,
If I do, I’ll be a better man.
I should do this more than only once a year,
Suddenly the world seems to be quite clear.