Wednesday, February 18, 2009
3 Cloudy Day Rhymes
Who says there’s no escape?
Well, I do – now and then.
perception gains a shape.
Ready with its pointed certainties,
your napping mind exalts its opportunities
whatever floating bees
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 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.