I pulled my hair up
and let the sun embrace me
in the warm arms
of its' light
As I stared at the lemon-colored daffodils
dripping
with the blood of an actor
whose movie had ended.
A million thoughts came to me then
like wild horses
out the stable
of this self.
To put them all into a row
would be an act of magic
and I am not
the sorcerer of organization
No, no, no; I am not.
What I am
is the raving mess
of didlidlada.
I know this
because
many ramblings rest
within virtual vaults
Without a second look.
But, frankly, I say fuck the form
of general discourse
Embrace the wild fragrance of real love.
This is where you can find me:
under the moon blowing an apparition
like a jazz player
to the tune of an unheard melody.
In that eve of discovery
you can choose to hear
the notes of this mania
or
You can shut the door
on possibility,
play yourself simple
like a banker.
Boring!
Be a big boy instead!
Pull those painted shorts
over the canvas of your legs
And run in the sun
on the grass of mythology.
There are many more marks
to make of this adventure
And many more to mark, too.
So uncork the wine of being
bring it to your lips like a drinker of life
slurp it heartily
Till this luscious sleep wraps you away
from this world of artificial light
and into the arms
of that forgotten sun.
Lockdown Fantasies by Zach Klebaner | Poetry Fabric Box
$25.00Price
Zachary Klebaner is a poet based in Annapolis, Maryland whose work combines surrealist soundscapes with fantasy imagery and introspective humor.
