Stupid Problems

Losing momentous extremes,
bring myself in-line, almost the mother 
of an idea, almost the father, never the sons-
forcing spiritual thought through a straw-
higher reasoning stupid daytime problems.

Doing okay, man. Things like that
spring to mind, flipped into backstroke
in a sea of yellow, sea of red - lap
my ankles, thoughts to tread on. Uncle!

Gotta keep your head on. Aunty
Myriad's prop-speak speaks dead tongues,
the dead sea of toes, clothes for feet, props for hair.
You'll guess that I'm bobbing now, gasping for air.

You will perhaps also spot
the eroneous belief in my own thought,
passing this beautiful stuff through my personal wiring,
exploding, like a peach through a sieve.


Cor, Feb 2001