Room

When the mind is messed up
when its confused
when the waters are muddied
and no productive work can be done
that is the best time to think

When the head pounds from over-rushes of sugar
of thoughts already learnt but yet to be read
of dizzying worlds of purposeless being
this is when the inner light turns on

The wisdom of the strained neck
and the cramped knee
sat down before the screen of pixelated reality
to unveil the week’s built up ruminants

The gaze of the inner eye, the eternal gaze
which finds its way in specificity
typed out in browser windows to the soul

The hazy numb tingling
ringing gently in your ears
of the city’s hustle and bust
unable to penetrate through domestic escape

The slipper foot hold strong
before the world cries out to take you away

The advancement of the days in the week
unending unexplained reframed into
continual self-discovery

The journalistic self-confessions of pent-up
dam-bursting water streams
of electrons on your computer scream

The bowl of cereal left uneaten
while your mind digests its first contents of the day

The growl of a trailer to your life
purring on your lap
steaming in your cup
sitting in your chair

The red light which glows around you
protective halos of soothing passion
and the bright greenish-blue
streaming smooth

The pill bottles lying mocking reminding
unwinding themselves before your eyes
as the doctor’s son receives the greatest surprise
of maturation occurring
deliverance emerging
in the darkest of days
before the summer sun.

The friend unbeknowst
localized insanity suppressed by irreality
surpassing unspoken expectations
replacing drug recreations
demanding remonstrations

Reggae chants and pluralistic slants
purchased wisdom on shelves of selves
turned pages creating visionaries

The papers and sheets play with garfield
in the underworld of childhood imaginary
surrealities of protracted adulthood suspended

The lamp cranes its neck
peaking behind the commonplace routine
overhanging the great dream

The DVD stands file
while
the library smiles
gorilla Zyrtec mascots for family trips
while zen dojo master samurai slips

The son takes flight
with pale blue and white heights
backgrounding his unacknowledged achievement
where has the time went?

Solitary confinement brought on
to shield from the world’s masked faces
where humanity’s traces still seep through
in the form of solidarity and pursue

Guitars and bananas wearing hats
while Alaskan moose keep company with sphynxes and pyramid
under a full dragon moon
skating by too soon.

Potato head reaches for mere christianity
but jerusalem is still the contested city
maybe the Aztecs got it right
or the Mayans

Maybe the rules to the game don’t make sense
because the game is not a game
or its the wrong game

Maybe the life of the mind is not meant
to be spent
in a life of discipline and punishment

Maybe something’s the matter with memory
when thought’s leviathan hasn’t read dostoyevsky
but robin hood has given away psychological principles for free

And maybe the utopian world illuminated is not a phenomenon
but a concept of nature

And maybe there is an ethic in speaking like the black elk
and wandering through the myth and reality which lies
in the inner reaches of outer space.

Maybe godel didn’t have to prove with logic
what the heart knows
and maybe you don’t have to cut the grass if you let it grow

Maybe the book ends possess more wisdom than the books
if you’d only listen and looks

Perhaps the skull heads and monkeys with shakers in hands
have come together with the blue bear and the rabbi
to drink newcastle under the globe
while russian dolls debate silk paintings

Maybe the cat is all that’s left of the grandfather
and so sits on the ledge of regret and possibility
while the flag represents the best of all reality

Maybe the tear’s story is best expressed
in a game of backgammon
do people still play that?

Six strings and a fan a brown hat and a guitar stand
a pile of shoes and a blinking light
the things we call home
which surround us in reality
of sailing ships for new horizons
where the ark carries enough animals so we can all be friends

Raisins and the adventures of Tom Sawyer
intermingling with vehicle registrations
cluttered security blankets
reminders of constancy in a world of change
growing on you like ivy

Furnished nick nacks of living reality
nostalgia cement
purity’s excrement
the day’s rent
and time well spent wasted in revelry

These are the things that are free
at the cost of nothing more than hot sauce
and lime juice and honey

These are the moments which are now
which scream for recognition in the form of appreciation
no more no less
but to be expressed and caressed

When the wind chamber is unburdened
so one can breathe free knowing they are doing
everything they can
to try and make a difference
to make their father’s proud
of son’s who’ve grown up to be real men
whatever that may mean to them

When the internal self steps back and says
you are doing good
you are on the right path
keep going
despite what the advertised alternatives demand

Embrace the ability to let go
as you move forward
into an uncertain world
filled with talking heads

Allow yourself to lie in bed
to throw the boomerang
to dribble your words into the absurd

Tell the truth of falsity to others
and yourself
gentle reminders of commonwealth
purchased in foreign currency

Be influenced by unknown rhythms
of an ocean
when you thought the mind a desert

Lap up the pools of swimming
with asian women and hispanics
in the cosmopolitan unity of brotherhood

Find peace in the japanese
where the great emperor has become the small night’s child
where springtime brings new flowers
where the rehearsed takes a back seat to good spirit
and positive energy

Rediscovering the land you once new
in the place you called home
that was never far away
just lost from purview

Always remember to compliment the cold reality
with recognition of comforting optimism
to live in a world of jaded responsibility
tempered by sweet music

Delighting in the friendship of a phone call
from the voice which means something
because it is spoken out of care
like the saxophone

Finding the meeting place of right and wrong
in the timely connection
where two men who’ve never known
each other
can come together and make music
though neither is a musician

Realizing your size fits many puzzles
which at times are not in front
but at the bottom of the jenga stack

The soul of the great man lives on
despite the true burden
of life out of control
which takes too many
too early

The cluttered desktop a mirror
the paintbrush couldn’t paint it any clearer
the wood providing no greater
splinter
to tell you when you need to stop