Wednesday, March 2, 2011

bubble pen dreams

i would not be
such a bubble pen
right now
if he
had not
inked my mind
to the sound
of free rhyme



a potpourri
of night terrors
and day dreams
i float above me
and see
three
bald spots
near my fontanelle
a gash in one of them


a seed
quelled with rainwater
endures the pain of breaking open
only to reveal
its purpose
and grow
into
a field of irises
Earth's purple eloquence
bleeds
from my head