Nothing

I could drift off, drift up like a balloon,
But hover and hang tethered to the ground,
To my room, to the bed
While I try to drift the world round in my head,
In my dreams, but instead it seems I’ve found
A dead end.
So friends, please lend me your fantasies,
Cut the rope that binds me to earth and sea,
Set me free to float over cityscapes at an ungodly hour
When even the crickets have gone to sleep.
I need to see more than just my eyelids’ insides
When the black of night is nigh
And the day is bid goodbye:
Let me borrow your visions of black and white colors,
Silent films of others sweet talking soon to be mothers as lingering lovers,
And lime green hummers lining the road,
And more of oblivion’s symbols that bode
Nothing but a bored subconscious bared:
Nothing a psychic could illuminate;
Nothing an analyst could elucidate;
Nothing an English professor could explicate;
Nothing but silhouettes and shadows dancing in wandering circles;
Nothing but sweet flowing hazes in the daze of early morning madness;
Nothing but careening images freewheeling inside my mind’s confines;
Nothing but nothing,
And nothing more





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