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)