Depressive Wandering (Poem)

I’m not gasping for air.
I don’t require a drink of productivity.
I could use a blank screen
playing back and forth in my mind.

Doleful and hidden
flipping through textless pages
memories that do or don’t incite reaction.
Play two cards,
play them again.
Look into them
like they were your siblings.

Drinking amasses a round of flavors
that hardly touch the tongue.
Gliding over it,
they outsource to more stores within your mind
ones with giant OPEN signs

The N flickers

Have you ever worked a day in your life and thought,
“Interesting. I enjoyed this.”
Share the rest of the dialogue.
Sing to me of sweet days
Of barley shin kisses
haybale chucking
fondly remembering
the adventures awaiting your return
to their electric reality
surging through your pillow
to your brain
into dreams
wakeful or otherwise.

Deep in the ear,
there lies a book.
It reads itself over and over again.
One day,
it thought of a sequel.
To publish it,
There must be
at least a palmful
of fire.

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