Wednesday, February 18, 2009

3 Cloudy Day Rhymes

No Escape

Who says there’s no escape?
Well, I do – now and then.
Usually when
perception gains a shape.



Ready with its pointed certainties,
your napping mind exalts its opportunities
to seize
and squeeze
whatever floating bees
and fleas
may be accruing in Imagination’s lees –
then, easy as a breeze,
impel them into Busby Berkeley series
of engorging swelling fantasies –
create an ever-propagating frieze
of Christmas trees
and sleaze
and monkeys chanting yes-sirree’s
and cherubs making untoward propositions on their knees –
until the whole thing blasts to stark invisibilities
because you sneeze.
Perhaps it’s allergies.


The Both of Us and It

My energy’s dispersed today
I like it quite a lot this way:

an opulently empty time
to ramble on and on in rhyme

and let my fluctuations stream
into a sort of waking dream

wherein I needn’t care at all
about the latest rise and fall,

surmise, demise or heave or ho
or whether notions cleave or go

or stay and play and make a fuss,
intensify what bothers us –

or used to when I cared one whit
about the both of us and it.


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