There are spells cast
by whom I do not know
causing hours, sometimes days,
in the world to be annoying.
I suspect a conspiracy of ill will
toward a me who is just trying to get by.
This powerless creature in the corner
fights back, as any small creature does,
nail and tooth – oblivious to any other possibility.
It is a self-created corner, but do not tell that to the rat,
who vaguely recalls the days of cheese and finish lines.
Deus ex machina is in order in this corner –
Bring in the crane and lift her out,
goes out to the stage hands —
for the rat who has forgotten
where to find the elevator button;
she has forgotten the hidden zipper
in her little rat suit.
She is scratching at walls, smelling dead end corners,
biting hands that feed her.
Forgotten has she that she designed the maze
to promptly fall into
in order to be found.
There are hours, and sometimes days,
of maze running
of squinting eyes and cheese hoarding –
clips boards hovering overhead.
What is this course,
this confusing path with walls,
this capacity of ours to exist in so many
places and in so many ways
at once so fully in each?
the rat – the funder – the designer – the observer – ocean
the mind – a sticky note storm – a hurricane the size of Africa – Om – ocean
the body – a straight jacket – a secret word – the breath – ocean
May we all fall into the ocean from every where.
May Jacob’s ladder be thrown from a helicopter
into our wayward dreams.
The only interesting thing is the wonder.
Where does the helicopter fly from here
when questions fall away,
when my scratching pen ceases to mark the trail?
The sky to the maze is the ground just for liftoff –
dropped is the story of chase and chased.
What comes next a mystery lived.
Life as Improv 