Sunday, March 12, 2017


My daydreams
had thorns on them,
and fade to the color of
boiling smoke.
Surrounded by the heavy blue scent
of my imagination,
I lose touch with reality,
become intoxicated.
Drunk with nostalgia,
I stammer to the open door,
ajar, and breathing with fresh air
from the outdoors.
I burst outside,
only to crash into a pile of dead leaves,
the colors of rust and butter. Again,
I am thrust into another childhood memory,
this one happier and healthier.
I cannot escape my memory,
and as this thought warms my face,
against the brisk October wind,
I fall into a deep, chaotic spasm of laughter.

1 comment:

Adrian Neibauer, EdD said...

I have no stanza breaks in this poem. Should I? As is, it is one long stanza, punctuated with some short lines. I am trying to go for a stream of consciousness feeling, but perhaps I wasn't successful. What are your thoughts? Feel free to comment on my line breaks or anything else related to this poem. Enjoy!