Jetsam

My words rush ahead of me
Eager bathwater seeking to scald -
seeking to soothe
and smooth over every crease on my brain.

But why should the right words float in froth to the surface
only under the right conditions?
Why does the water have to run before my mind unspools?
The bed must be made for my head to sleepwalk.
Everything neatly folded and put away before the mess can begin.

Am I a wrong-righter or a song-writer?
And who wants to hear either?