My Imagination
only wonderful spirits
float through my conscience
i’ve never been past
plastic pajama continents
i tiptoe on loose beams
walking from cloud to cloud
trip and tumble on legos
spilt by Moses wearing
a crown.
mass-produced appliances make me frown
because there’s nothing more impersonal
than a homemade meal on Ikea furniture.
i paint, paintings till their pretty
and kiss daisies till i’m dizzy
wear kaleidoscopes for glasses
till i’ve tilted the axis of my core.
expose my mind to what its
never thought before.
please generalize,
all of my ideas
till you can form a religion
with 12 commandments
and no rulers
to measure
the distance
between a gluon and a proton.
two objects never touching
floating on our definitions
of contact, my consciousness
Is forever fuzzy
building thoughts into a composition
to make the matter stylish,
or make what matters more hip.
i make the train track
for my thoughts
a roller coaster ride.
trying to recreate the childhood magic
of water slides.
out of loops on paper.
lazy brains write the best waste paper.
and sometimes, i think time doesn’t exist
and all i’m aware of, is the essence
of this present.
and then i begin to daydream
so i can extend time through
playing with rationality
optimize the moments
till everything is archetypal.
as i step out of my illusion,
to avoid any confusion,
i remind myself what two plus two is
then how my culture functions
when to be silent
what ideas are acceptable
how not to be a spectacle
before remembering what gives life value.
at least, i think.
the cataclysm
could have been when i was born
or learned to think.
maybe it hasn’t happened yet.
does that make sense?
i contemplate what could be happening
through the ideas of others
adding up phonetic symbols
mutterings and scribbles
about essentialism, policy, theory
and the origins of my psychology.
how can i care about originality
without first thoroughly understanding
if these ideas are my own.
where they come from,
and how they form.
could the mysteries be
what i live for?
if my curiosity was fully actualized
what would I strive for?
so i avoid painting portraits
and stick at what i’m good with
its better, more fun, less monotonous
your instant pleasures
can tempt me
no longer.
i’ll exist and thrive
without proper regard to whats modern.
and in doing so, i sleep
to the sound of better dreams.
i have to transpose my flow
through meaninglessness first,
before my vague thoughts
expose their meaning.
my imagination must be fantastical
before ever becoming actual.
