What’s It Called

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What’s It Called

 

You don’t even know

What’s going through my head,

I’ve lost it,

Gone.

To the wind,

With the whirls.

Troubled with the always

Never and forever

Which sit in tiny glasses

On my bedside table.

Laughing, deeply mocking

The crazy in my head.

Trapped in burning bushes

With angry queen bees.

Juniper and berries

Make pudding in my mind

While sanity goes running

Far to the other side.

Whitewashed walls melt

To puddles at my feet,

While the glasses dance it circles

Round my weary meat.

Imagination nation,

Peals apples for

A pie, of sweetness made of

Honey, found deep within.

Dripping grease to

Oil down the gears

Turning in the space between my ears.

Jackals turning tides

Came rushing to my side

To lick off all the sugar

Coming out of my toes.

It’s been a day unlike another,

Then again aren’t they all?

I’ve found the crack

A way beyond the wall

That struggled to stay put

To keep me in at all.

Creeping through the meadow

To widen every crack

I’ll spice it up with

Anise and slip it down my back.

Wait until the thunder

Crashed through the breeze

Till all I ever wanted

Comes falling to me knees.

I’ll kiss each sweet surrender

Give hugs to every man

Jump up every river,

Dance all that I can.

 

Some days are just tired, goofy days. Today was one of those days, where everything was just funny because my brain and muscles were tired from working. Somehow I just managed to get through the day, and do a decent job with massive amounts of laughter at the absurdity of the situation and my brain. This poem speaks to that a bit.

How do you deal when everything is funny?

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