I woke up this morning from a dream which I remember but dare not repeat in detail. And lying in bed while my consciousness made the laborious transition to the day, a poem formed...almost in self-defense. So I guess I need to post it. Goodness! Two posts in two days.
Security Guard at the MOMA
Illustrating the very essence of endurance,
and never leaning in a poorly pressed and wooly blue
of maturity, wisdom, and the awesome authority of
Do Not Touch
(practicing the Zen of forgetfulness)
But yes, I see you over there,
beside of the Pollock, surreptitiously groping.
And I wrestle with cinematic rush,
of putting pedal to metal,
accelerating toward the heart-shaped plush,
waiting for the glowing engine to blow
while throwing brains out the window
like hamburger wrappers flapping in the wind.