Close Minded

There's a confetti of thoughts. Small, varied morsels; none fully formed. Fluttering. Falling. Catching light and blinding. A parade of notions - just smile and wave - With hope, without reason, for none to catch on the textured, care-worn fabric of the mind. With little room to entertain. Lacking incentive. Won't muster up even a silhouetted form of an effort to create a space of vacancy for someone's second-hand belief to take root. Crowded. Congested with overflowing consciousness, but limited in the absorption of 'new'