I
Gone with no trace in the mystical air, hopes of one day resolving thrown out into the wind for good. Out on a limb, all of my life. The question was changed just as I was about to answer, I wouldn't have spoken anyway. I am shy.
II
Nighttime makes everything surreal, or does it? The world is rational on the surface but the moment you dig deeper you find surreal elements that normally make no sense. Nighttime is digging deeper into the world. Scavenging through the night, refusing to meditate. I am lazy.
III
The altar of a splendid corner, a construct of lesser people more successful than both me and you. Welcoming of thought, hostile to reflection. I let it stare behind my hood, I shape as required. I am rejected.
IV
Walk through fire or don't even bother. All these people you see here, I chose them personally and they are as sound asleep now as they were when I chose them. They never moved a muscle. I feel that thought racing through your mind, telling your mouth to open and tell me something, I don't want to hear it. Banish it all and walk. Walk, walk, walk. Or get moving the other way around.
V
Are you a doctor or are you a patient?
VI
Agitate the waters, let them agitate. But don't you ever dare get agitated yourself or we will ruin everything you stand for. We'll make a joke out of you, a pariah out of your image. You will hear the second guessing in the minds of those you cross. Stay calm, sit down, keep smiling. Don't you dare stand up for yourself.
YOU ARE READING
Flights of Fancy
PoetryThere is another dimension beyond that which is known to fictional characters. A collection of short stories, poems, snippets, vignettes, and everything else that crosses my mind and has no place in my current publications, or is waiting in the wing...
