the Bowling Alley

You could roll your thought up, press it down hard, hammer it until very dense, burnish it (or them, if you’ve a few), and then bore holes for the fingers, hold it then brightly, confidently, let your arm swing back, then forward concentrating, and aimed well, released with powerful force,

it sails down the alley and maybe overturns the bright jazzberry jam colored tree there in the distance!

And when the bowling ball reaches the horizon sometimesĀ it scatters into fluffy clouds.


Pensive and Coy: Je pense donc je suis

In one picture he wears laurels and looks timid and childlike
in another scene he ventures down into the dark
depths of a familiar unknown
and looks at you as though you understand,
which of course, implies that you’re there although you’re not.
The light strikes the undersides of his face making it luminous pearl
and yet there is no light.
It’s a downward path and into this dark finds comfort
you feel the pull of gravity strenghthen and water above you weighs
on your edges, pushing from all directions and you push back with
muscles meant for exactly this
and all the water above you only puts more distance between you and the
non-fish world.
So security goes downwards until you reach those planes
where you go forward like a swift swimming fish, weight glancingĀ 
away and folding into substance
you slip streaming from its incasement
its pressure pressing you onward.
Your eye globe gleams reflecting back depths to depths
who to see but other strange creatures
either those you eat or those who eat you
(all which would be metaphorical were you human and thinking
but you are fish and slip streaming).
A channel drilled through the planet in the space-time
marks your mass’s trajectory
not part of history but more part of what exists you are
not thinking, yet am-ing.