The latest inkblot test is glued to your wooden floor.
What do you see on the walls of your bleached mind?
Ten thousand memorized words,
a bucket of newspaper clippings
and the latest sketch for a Technicolor tattoo.
The hawk that keeps you company
on a blackened Sunday,
and the sailboat permanently etched on the toe of your
shoes.
There’s a drumming noise inside your head.
But there’s no use chasing Alice.
The hatter’s top hat has found a new home.
It never belonged to you.
Shuttered eyes hold you at an arm’s length.
It’s time to pour it out.
Unravel your fists.
Release the iris petals, the broken compass and the stolen
piano key.
Find your melody. Exhale.
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