You look like a man, one without a face, shape or form.
And as you whisk off your word-stuff like a blender beating
Berries and ice, sending sweetness and frankness
I swallow reality sandwiches in dream time that fill my mind
And churn my gut.
I fold my arms, pull my terry robe tight and dare not to ask for a photo
Triteness too tempting for a fellow traveler.
Off to the landfill, the stench of the dump hurting my nose,
I clutch my doll, wait for you to whisper "It's o.k.-be you"
Fellow traveler, companion on the train car of connections,
Snapping, cracking and popping far off to a land far away where
You drink your morning drink and eat your evening meal,
I wonder if you're real.
While I wax psychotic and cringe at my rhymes, told I'm a song
Writer by the keeper of stanzas, metering them out to me in
Trails of a trance chant not to be published.