CAN'T SLEEP? DON'T COUNT SHEEP
Try something to eat:
leftover lunchmeat
manicured duck feet,
Gasparillan
keylime disco twists! You
can have
bikini ribbons with shaved
pecorino
two dewdrop sturgeon blini,
three Stoli jiggers &
a whirling twirly girl
cupcake! Eat leeks!
Chipmonk cheeks in flamenco butter
candied pigeon widgets,
marinated
monkey meat, parboiled anger
reduced
to new consideration, an open
mind
shredded horse hooves braised
in honeysuckle nectar.
All smothered in the gravy of
the future.
Now go back to bed.
What's that? Still can't
sleep?
Don't count sheep - perhaps
toasted
tapioca topped with pure
kangaroovy syrup
twice-fried fridge frappés,
everything you remember
skewered, barbequed &
tied up in a dream
of rising gibbous marshmallow
pie.
A changing point of view.
All things pink
& black & good &
plenty of time
to ponder the great
questions: love - death
- identity, moments of
heightened consciousness
or just a plain mayonnaise
sandwich.
Thought becoming image.
Baked image becoming food
for thought: microwave pizza
with grated Parmenides
"Why is there something
rather than nothing?"
Isn't all that exists
leftover?
Speculative? Risqué? All
smothered
in the gravy of the future?
Paradox, oxymoron, endless
ambiguity.
The Battle fought between
Soul and No Man.
A simple salad when popcorn
would do.
The two forms of time,
eternity
& the present moment
uniting
at midnight, the meaning of
meaning
all smothered in the gravy of
the future.
Copyright © 2004 Craig Van Riper
