I wrote this a while back. Just found the notebook. Thought I would jot it down on my blog:
What I asked of life was to give me roses
and daisies, zebras and leopards
and spiders and lizards.
I never thought much more of it.
Until sitting in Barnes and Noble
reading Alice and Wonderland,
and not knowing the difference
between Tweedle Dee and the Carpenter
or a Rabbit and a Hatter.
I want a cup
but there isn't a good tea
to drink anymore.
Just poetry
Poetry. God, I love
Poetry!
I could chamomile
all the while I sip and stir
caramel into an ocean of creativity.
Words salt me.
And I can't shake the notion
that maybe a rose isn't a rose
and nobody knows a Daisy
like I know her
or think I know her.
There's always a fork in my tongue.
Slipping my Pen from brain to ink
ink to stains on pages
spotted and striped.
Poetry though, ensnares me,
bleeds me,
twists me,
until I push roses and pop daisies
I must be Mad after all.
What I asked of life was to give me roses
and daisies, zebras and leopards
and spiders and lizards.
I never thought much more of it.
Until sitting in Barnes and Noble
reading Alice and Wonderland,
and not knowing the difference
between Tweedle Dee and the Carpenter
or a Rabbit and a Hatter.
I want a cup
but there isn't a good tea
to drink anymore.
Just poetry
Poetry. God, I love
Poetry!
I could chamomile
all the while I sip and stir
caramel into an ocean of creativity.
Words salt me.
And I can't shake the notion
that maybe a rose isn't a rose
and nobody knows a Daisy
like I know her
or think I know her.
There's always a fork in my tongue.
Slipping my Pen from brain to ink
ink to stains on pages
spotted and striped.
Poetry though, ensnares me,
bleeds me,
twists me,
until I push roses and pop daisies
I must be Mad after all.
