just for kicks imagine the sun cold asleep beneath a wild oak tree (what do you see?) dawn sits on a set of red stairs prays for serenity, cyclones we’re all saints & cannibals, she seems to say odds of war men: the images are finite, but the thinking is eternal neither born nor dies nor bears emerald fruit in this angry, proud circus the girls & ghosts return play hopscotch under a tall desert moon their eyes are asteroids pale, inquisitive does the future hold freedoms we’ve already lost? (that, i wish i knew) who eats sunshine like oranges splits atoms, saves the best of us
An observation: I’ve noticed that, whenever my poetry starts becoming too orderly, too structured, or too predictable (at least, for me), I invariably get an urge to go in and mess it all up. I want to create something weird, decidedly unstructured, and nonsensical. After the last several poems I published here (all of which I like…but they are, indeed, orderly) It’s like I crave chaos. The novelty of disruption. That’s what this poem is (and I expect there will be others to follow shortly). A helpful disruption, a way of bringing myself back into balance. I wonder, do any of you do this, as well?