Another new poem, a poem about time and memory and ancestors and . . . a thought poem if you will, which most of my poems seem to be these days. my consciousness is consumed by the ever present vulture that time has become to me and others my age.
a sparrow of a thought that
flutters away into the darker rooms
whenever my mind tries to capture it,
tame it, domesticate it like a clawless cat.
piled up against thick walls of brittle bone.
Bubble gum memories from some other time,
of some other time, a distant time, a time
that no longer recognizes itself as time,
time in, time out, time to bleed red the ocean,
shampoo the mind’s palette, lick the world clean.
A rain will come along someday and drive
all this thought back into a stone age
of subconsciousness, way back before fire,
when the moon was nothing more than
an imaginary goddess whispering in
the hairy ears of our ancient ancestors.
Woodie o4-3o-18
A
Clawless Cat of a Thought
My head
dangles by a thought,
a skinny
thread of thought invisible,a sparrow of a thought that
flutters away into the darker rooms
whenever my mind tries to capture it,
tame it, domesticate it like a clawless cat.
Just a wisp of pure white whiskers brushing
against the
dream after dreams stored up,piled up against thick walls of brittle bone.
Bubble gum memories from some other time,
of some other time, a distant time, a time
that no longer recognizes itself as time,
time in, time out, time to bleed red the ocean,
shampoo the mind’s palette, lick the world clean.
A rain will come along someday and drive
all this thought back into a stone age
of subconsciousness, way back before fire,
when the moon was nothing more than
an imaginary goddess whispering in
the hairy ears of our ancient ancestors.
Woodie o4-3o-18
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