going nowhere fast

the words pile up a mental traffic-jam
behind the meanings there's nothing at all
ahead a sludge of intellectual spam
the mind's in gridlock far beyond recall
somewhere words flow smooth as any stream
not in this place where all the lights are red
under the weak soft light of the moonbeam
the sharpest turns of phrase are dull and dead
in turn each animal does its neat trick
then vanishes into the the gathering dark
if we blink once we see they've gone right quick
there's nothing else out there that we can mark
whatever it is we wanted now that jars
but somewhere what they see are the bright stars