Posted by Atticus on November 19, 2006, at 18:49:09
A Rorchach blot puddle
In the valley of an alley
Trails fetid steam tendrils
Between chipped bricks,
And funky junkie poets
Read meanings in the blobs
Wondering if it’s all
Hallocigenic tricks,
Curls of surreal
Amid paint as it peels
Are always good for
A few moment’s kicks,
And graffiti across
Sacrosanct asphalt halls
Becomes scripture that to
The fluid brain sticks.I puzzle if it all
Adds up to a message
That my simple mind
Just can’t see,
But then I lose focus
Amid all the hocus-pocus
And I just decide
To let it all be.I ask a man on a bench
In a coat of many colors
If this tableau adds
Up to very much,
He looks at me as if
I’m crazy which is
Close to the truth and
Offers a gentle touch,
Asks just what it is
I’m looking to find
To soothe a mind
That seeks to clutch,
The secret world beneath
The world before me
And asks me what
I’m trying to touch.I puzzle if it all
Adds up to a message
That my simple mind
Just can’t see,
But then I lose focus
Amid all the hocus-pocus
And I just decide
To let it all be.
poster:Atticus
thread:705331
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/write/20060920/msgs/705331.html