Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Ging Gang Gooly

Mirabai painting
It’s somewhere very busy—
the trainset of this mind—
where i’m a well-fed baby
            ‘round all the toys to find—

and hopping off the seasaw—
            and scrambling up the slide—
or melting heads from G. I. Joes
            (where fire ants abide)—

a plastic zoo beneath the sand—
            a space ship—in the sky—
beneath the porch—the tender thing
            that grows out from my eyes—

until i’m somewhere suddenly
            i wasn’t where before—
this is—you see—the way it goes—
            through door in door to door.

It’s somewhere strange and busy—
            in somewhere moreso still.
The whorls would make me dizzy—
            if i remembered to be ill—

but on from on these plays i go—
            rebounding rhyming whims—
glancing reflection in these words—
            vowing—i am not him.

(Inspired by Emily "Em-Dash" Dickinson and Scooter "Compost Pile" Cascadia)

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