The Musing Mind

The musing mind is never dark –
although it’s sometimes parked in dim
translucence – whose crème fraiche

palette soothes the eyes – the sort
from which an archetypal harlot’s hues
arise – which may then conjure up

the brick-pink Ghost of All Election Days
to Come – from which may well ensue
that gray-blue bold Walt Whitman Wind –

whose sum may fold the whole into another
spin – and spread – of luscious influence
than which there is no better butter

for the bread of thought. Rich but rarely
fraught – chaos in a cloud of cream.
More useful, really, than a dream.






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