Fountain from the Wide-Open Hidden
My mind is a fountain
Spewing streams of ideas,
Droplets of merging thought,
Wetting the rock garden
Of my personal reality.
They make the minerals
Sparkle from within glassy matrix
As they jostle and recombine
Before I can utter
Their expression.
The idea-segments mostly glisten as dew
Or run between the crevices
Into sections of reality
Where I can’t follow.
A few nourish the hardy vegetation
Of woody theories and scrubby beliefs
That have managed to stick around
Despite the constant blasts raining down.
But the vast majority
Of these ideas spewed
Are undigested
And frustrating as
Fleeting phantoms.
More and more
I cup my hands
And capture some of the deluge
To help sate the thirst
Of friends,
Known and yet to know,
Dry and cut off
From the tap,
Wide-open hidden,
Into creation.
albi
Copyright 2004