I find myself
in a sea of light, sitting
in the midst of thunder.
Balanced on the end
of many questions.
My pen only stops
moving to collect my mind.
Then back to composing.
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Poems in cheese
burgers grease
my poem is in the
making
of a big cake baking
Chinese noodles
and all that is doodles
poems of spinach and farms
and long long yarns
poems that appear in custard
and dry mustard
have you heard of poems
served on platter
as mad as a hatter
I found a poem oily
like raw raw jelly
a poem in a basket of orange
in a golden red melange
this is a poem witty
and I’m not nutty.
How strange streaks
of light filtered from
my palms, a rainbow
promise in misty cloud
above an urban sprawl,
Only I could see it,
tucked there, a hint
meant for only me to see,
a message of vapor
later trickling down.
The kind old doctor
shrunk me down in my
dreams, tenderly
placing me in the rocket,
whizzing me off
“To make the schedule work”
he said, so that I
disappeared in a spark.
Fourth grade math, split with fifth graders
The aged eagle swooping over the room
Resting at his nest on occasion, then up again
Back and forth, spreading grey feathers
“Sleep with your math books, class
Practice your fractions, and then practice more”
Last year, the kid won a division contest
Now he is confused, one number over another
A strange display, another language
With about half his mind, the pencil forms walls
Small figures in tights, vigilante emblems
Of course, the paper is snatched by the talon
“Superhero City,” the pedagogue intoned
“Will not solve your math problems.”
How travels the mind? Faster than air… light…
It has its own way… Imagination cannot be traced…
Events have mutuality but
Ideas are mutually exclusive…
I can make my own story, I have already done that, makes me feel
far ahead…
The land of imagination exists in the subconscious realm,
each and everyone’s… Though few have control over it… Discovering
it from subconsciousness to consciousness raises a vision and
an untold story comes alive.
The poetry smells of nicotine
That leads dizzying and reeling brains
To the pathways of
Contemplated lunacy,
Riding the sea waves
In cotton stockings
Never getting wet.
The poetry smells of hallucinogen
Embroidering the fatal cups
That await the conjugation
With the scarlet lips
Summered by the warmth
Of the touch gloved in
Wildness.
Drugged. Dragged. Drudged.
Sea changes
offshore, will-o’-the-wisp,
often foam eats the sea
and the distant houses
fade into oblivion.
Drag a carcass into the sea
death has manifold visions
shark teeth is one of them and alligators cruising.
There never was the demon
I sought in childhood
or the dragon, the rabbit
I read of in Blyton’s books
or the skyscrapers I thought
the city had, I’ve found them now in my whittled
thoughts.
I run furiously
after the small
cloud of vapor
forever running down
a winding path
of human imagination.