Thought trees


On these long drives the trees
meet road-weary retinas that
turn them into rorschach blots
reflecting the thought parade
marching in circles in my skull




“Guess” he said.
“You know I hate the guessing game.”
I always have.
Too practical to waste the time,
annoyed that the questioner knows
the answer they’re asking for
yet he grins and asks again
and I flare my nostrils
and he wins


The rain stops hinting

and takes it outside

to make good on its threats

and the slick streets shout out again

swinging light around like drunk fists


Hey, look at that! I’m late posting polls again. What a surprise! You know us artist-types. Just so unreliable… 😉