Floating, seeking, dreaming, sleeping

Floating clouds of coming sleep,
  clouds that hide the wounded day,
  a day that struggled mightily for
  just a place to sleep.

Floating streams of running dreams,
  dreams that hide the seeker’s hope,
  carried on in rivulets that
  eddy into tides.

In billows, and in brine,
  in water, and in wine,
  past confidence and dissonance
  and flavors alkaline —-

Floating islands made of smoke,
  islands lost to time and space,
  floating, seeking, dreaming, sleeping,
  sleeping skin, a

sunset-colored dreams

she was as water endlessly surrounding
all that he’d ever thought to entertain;
as one who stretches ever for enlightening
and self-absorbing, always, just the same –

the light came onto, into her in gladness,
the dawn became the dwelling place of kings:
and every bit of money went as quickly
as they could turn it into newish things –

of happenings, they knew but very little;
they cared for nothing of the world’s bright schemes —
for they were all that was, a sort of ocean
of lunacy, and sunset-colored dreams

Back Roads

The roads I daily travel
May rich or lacking be,
But if they’ll get me home again
That’s good enough for me.

I have been on the back roads
For what seems like a while,
But every road is good enough
That gets me that last mile.

A muddy road’s as good as any
Road has ever been
If it will take me back to where
I’ll see her face


Schrödinger’s Cat

So, I was here watching Schrödinger’s cat,
Now it’s both dead and alive:
How it has managed this, I do not know.
Somehow, though, it did contrive

So both to be and to not-be at once
Putting poor Hamlet to shame:
So the old Law of Non-Contradiction’s
Broken, and I am to blame.

So in the middle of Animal Rights
Physics, and Theater too —
I’ve violated immutable laws
What’s a poor blogger to do?