Out of Your Skull

There are old names still in use,
Worn smooth, that sound more common
Than old, and there are old names

No one uses anymore
That feel old and exotic,
Archaic and plain goofy

And pretentious to deploy.
But there are also old names
That are old only to you

Or specifically to you,
Names like stones at the bottom
Of most quiet streams of thought,

That shift, chuckle back and forth,
Not eons old as stones go,
But washed down here long ago.

Those are the names, if and when
You end up in a prison,
Cut off for any reason,

Will be what you have to use
To compose, your own old names,
Whatever you’ve always known.