A quiet mind.
A useful aim?
I think so.

But every mind
Has an opening
Like a cave
Where The Fruit Bats come home to roost.

I discover, at some point,
That this opening is also an exit.
And that, anyway, those fruit bats
Come home
In order to sleep.

I still wave my arms around
Trying to stop those fruity thoughts flying
Like mad things.
Getting in the way.
Getting in my hair.
Making a racket.

But they need sleep too.
So, eventually, I let them sleep.
Until the next time
They need to eat.

Then I let them fly away.