thinking about a place where...

The Dream of the Fisherman's Wife,
Hokusai, 1814, woodblock print

thinking about a place where...


I'm somewhere else besides 
the insides an old room 
pheasant marshland grouse
forest creek hunting wallpaper 
and wainscoting with old paint 
old street old views old words 
all that I look at 
to bear some kind 
of bullshit inspiration 
that I can turn 
into a poem

thinking about a place where 
I choose to steal time from myself
in the most right 
of now I can know because 
I am mostly cliche 
mostly driven by simple electrocution 
mostly at home in my head 
with the group of voices 
that I have cultivated...

thinking about a place where 
the new bingo chips have human skin in them
the leprosy colonists fill our reeded baskets 
with bushels full of themselves 
we paint them, crushed early tree blossoms 
maples do fine from crimson cellular iron red 
to hose knife lime green and a slurry 
of in between colors that seem right about 
the dusty hues take views 
interior monologues raked in places I'd rather not mention 
but will anyway because I want 
every poem to be
more like my fantasies, painted
in the smells of flophouse stoner zombie love...

thinking about a place where
a sexy post menopausal maternal type 
can give me an unexpected blowjob 
before a sandwich attendant drone 
comes to take my order...

there's a robert wise film on 
turner classic movies tonight
though I might be too tired and drunk by then
to do anything other than imagine another poem
to entertain myself in the morning when I awake 
thinking about a place where...

EJR ©