An idle Sunday.
There is someone at my door,
Addressing me,
with regular raps on the hollow wooden frame,
calling out at intervals,
what I believe used to be my name.
I would apologise, my friend,
But I am too preoccupied
with my own absence,
Or, atleast pretending the same.
For I, presently, am too far away.
Caught up,
in a giddy swirling mass of a day dream.
Lying here in my half crimson room,
Smiling slight…slightly,
at the ceiling, which grows higher,
Spiraling way,
way high into the stratosphere.
There is someone beside me,
Murmuring honeycombs,
humming faintly into my ears.
And thus I, so raptured…
find myself unable,
to answer your calls.
And a spangled rodeo horse
Neighs and canters
around my feathered pillow,
chewing at my hair
as I swim..
through Dollops of creamy mists,
engulfing sight and mind.
Maybe another day, my love,
Will I stumble to the door way
and turn that knob…
Today however, I am sailing
over my own body,
Rowing with my tiny oars
through this choppy mess of winds.
(atleast, the mist has cleared)
I can see the oceanic vastness, barely though,
through the fluttering dayglo wings…
purple velvet to a gauze of gold,
Blurred by their own velocity…
Choo choo.
My ferry turns wayward,
Misbehaving, in this flickering excitement.
Static, a tense restlessness,
Glows when I smile,
through my teeth.
I see my reflection break,
into ripples as I step through
this hall way of mirrors.
Only to be sucked right out
of the enchanting illusions
by your rudeness.
you knock yet again!
I meet my bed with a dull thud
And a sigh.
Your persistence bothers me.
The development of a frown however,
Is intervened,
(you’re a lucky bastard)
by my white horse…
Neighing, cantering, chewing…
the ceiling still spirals.
AND, the rolling thunder,
tumbles around as
Falling cars and misshapen cats fall
Unsoundingly,
around me and my tambourine umbrella…
I sleep… drowsy slumber dreamy sleep.
I sleep through it all.
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