The Real Estate Of My Mind

My stories are contrived from concealed figments of

imaginary pieces of the real estate of my mind

that stalk the subconscious synapses of paradox,

unfold layers of evocative reflections of experience,

journey through poignant particles of brainwaves that

peddle through the thick atmosphere to empty space,

seeking time bomb snippets set to detonate at moment's notice.

Minutes ago, words did not appear on this paper,

now language is squeezed n' transformed

into poetic birth of another doggerel.

If I were a woman, I would breast feed this infant

so that he/she would manifest to completion.

But, I am a man whose innate ability to nurture

lay in the soil over which I toil each spring

as I till, seed, water, weed, reap, sow my paradise.

In stillness, my lucid mind wanders inward,

convolutes, then circumvents reality,

logic disappears, reason reflects observation,

a flicker of perception is ignited,

lyrics pour from philosophical vessel

onto slippery roads I travel, paths once forsaken,

given up for dead, only to rise in the sunshine.

The sky is a cloudless incandescent blue.

The 80-degree temperature is the perfect palatial pallet.

The sultry wind crawls 5mph from the warm gulf waters.

Swan families are floating in file beneath the boat dock.

Married eagles are nesting in needles atop the pine trees,

Playful squirrels are fidgeting up bark of the palm trees.

Poking, peaking, long-beak White Ibis' aerate the lawn.

Freedom Isn't Free
Walking My Dog During a Florida Thunderstorm
 

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Saturday, September 23, 2017

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