Or- a head doesn't give a shit because it lacks a digestive system
Like Escobar's hippos, like the terror of Bengal, like Nile perches,
I am
Jack's tinfoil leg
I am To be And just
That.
A jiggly photon through a polariser, refusing rectitude
Like mud in a lotus grove.
In my head- A shotgun sonata parselsung, there is more and more light
And my shadow dance is dulldimming.
I am, basically, a bad dream painter.
But out of all this,
I want to be a place on a hill,
And be still,
And then watch the grass grow
Elephants!
Then, with a swoosh, make the winds
Blow the way the ants go.
I want to be a we but lets keep this dream realistic,
And sleep like a lotus in the greengreen mud and see
The perspiring dull magenta truth
Of colour: frustration.
Why amiamiamiamiamiamiamiamiami...
Count trimesters in reverse, earth hath labour again to receive me back.
Exits.
End poem
~Ajay
6/12/2018
