Poetry breeds poetry

Poetry (both to read and write) requires a state of ennui.

Detachment, Adrift, Atrance

A dark cabin tossed in the sky by choppy clouds

Rows of slumped heads rocking synchronised with ebb and flow a silent concerto

I straddle the thin blurry line of consciousness

weaving like a fish between dreams and the book of poems resting in my lap

The stanzas and lines bleeds across my mind as a page dipped in watercolors

seeing and dreaming the same

of all the windows, a single one remains open to the light of day

The round aperture plays a pinhole camera, a camera obscura

Plastering the roof of the cabin its own Sistine Chapel

The ground of the earth inverted and mirrored rushing pass above me

I sat struck as Moses, Mary, and Lot’s Wife all once did

the descent from the heavens brought added focus and detail

The ground both above and below coming closer and closer

The jolt of the wheels brushing tarmac shattered the spell like stained glass

we awoke