untitled dream number one
this is it. this is drowning.
the pastel movie beneath the marque.
there was uncle bob who survives adventures,
then one day just died anyway. there was crazycat
who ate chocolate and lived. there were swimming
lessons and a first kiss, both late by the calendar.
there were silent mean streets that did no harm, and
a bee wearing a flower stinging grandma janet’s nose.
it’s a matter of how much water you can breath.
whether or not this summer heat will make tomatoes
blush. then again there was the late autumn when
a boy’s steadfast care salvaged the life of a cat
like no adult could muster to do.
a matter of surrendering.
and how do we know when a poem ends?
neil reid © october 2011
Nothing serious. Some color. Some this, some that. Cleansing thoughts of words with words (crazy huh!). Also sort of like notes done out loud, and you’ll carry them now for a while won’t you please, and so I don’t have to for a while. Nothing serious, like I said.
Do we trust the barebones truth of meditations?