Category: Poems about Thinking

Prickly branches, stickily soaked in sap and little leaves; sticking out like sticks that stick out from the ground. And such a stick is nothing but a stick, unless beheld by brainy and/or brawny men, in which case not beheld as in the sense as been bespoke before; but as in that of banderoles and…

Our lives, though they do at times seem tangled, frazzled and chaotic and unmatched, are symmetric about a wonky axis, curving and veering and returning and nearing and ever in order, that is, from the current perspective. I’m happy to live on a line like that, weaving through other people’s lines and such. It’s delightfully…

A raggedy brown rabbit came to me and whispered a tiny truth. “I love you,” she said. “And that should be enough.” I keep her hidden in a tiny box now, with air holes and vegetables and everything a rabbit needs. She lives underneath my day job, where I smile and learn from people who…

There is no record of this. No subject to do anything to any object. No perspective to be had of any aspect. This like so many other nervous impulses. There is absence of any substance of any notion. Forget with no qualifier and without pause.

My right hand tells my left what to do, and I call her you. and she says, “sorry” but it’s cool, and I tell her, Do that and I’ll do this. You hold that still, and I’ll twist.

Blind Dreams are very fragile friends. Good stories at the best of times, but frequently they only leave me shaken. Please, fade to black and do not reawaken. Let my eyes relax and sleep, and do not wander back, and keep the pretense that I might have been mistaken. Deferred I used to have a…

I walk among distracted clay faces, Their clay bodies colorful and plain, Going about their business and ignoring me, And I wonder whether I should be ashamed of having described My friends and neighbors as made of clay. As I meander through the crowd, I recognize the scene. I’ve read this story once before, I…

Tiny life, with bits of me and bits of the one I chose for you, strung together, underneath the inquisitive eyes I see you through. Wily little smiles, copying us, testing our knowledge, outwitting our words. Questions I haven’t asked in years, and answers I’ve never heard. Keep us young. Bring us back– to finding…

Annoying lights and noisy cars and full of stress and people, on a boring street between two rows of dirt and grass in disarray, the rocky sidewalk lifting, dropping me awkwardly as I trudge among a slew of ugly buildings tossed about on either side. I squeeze between a shaggy and protruding mess of bushes…