Careful- some might be sharp

Give me a sign, oh jumbled mind of mine. I can feel the thoughts inside there, all crashed over each other like the brittle bones of an animal whose flesh has suddenly evaporated. Or as if the grave that had held the carcass of my ideas has turned inside out like one of those purple velvet liquor bags - the ones with the golden string to strangle it closed at the top - and spit the contents into a desert. I feel for sure my thoughts are strewn in the sand, parched and porous and white with seams and pockets of old dust (run and rest, run and rest). Oh poor ancient skeleton, whose knocking knees are so silent.
Large crows keep sweeping through the air past my window. I see them just out of the corner of my eye and always turn too late to catch any real detail, so it actually looks like one of the trees is reaching out with a huge limb and snatching with splintered palms at all the invisibles. It's a good thing I haven't cast any ribbons of my spirit out the window for a wee dance in the breeze, or he's sure to unravel me.
Can you tell I'm tired? I always try to do too much, while at the same time berating myself for being lazy. The strange numb dance is already taking hold, and festival time is still two weeks away. I have too many ideas and not enough quiet time to make them all happen. So many tourists...talk...so..slowly. Speed up! I want to yell. You're missing point! Why, you're all the spitting image of one another! Wouldn't you like to take some time to contemplate the complex web of tunnels and flesh whispers that are running under the surface pulse of this old city? Or shall I just ring through this postcard for you? Stamp? Would you like a stamp? I'm telling you...you're going to need it...
Sigh. I'm going to eat some dinner and try to forget this ever happened.