This Strange Place

Chimera Poetry

It’s a strange place, 

that louring sky and expansive sand swept landscape

 inside my head.

Where no one sits and sings, 

or bakes cakes,

or watches leaves turn colors,

or laughs.

Where nothing ever changes and no one ever wins…

no one plays at all.

A space kept blank and bland

with no moving parts or beating heart,

no favorite candy bar,

no late night thoughts.

It should be a clean place,

it should be,

but instead it’s greasy to the touch,

and rough on the lungs

 like breathing steel filings.

And it’s no wonder 

that no one wants to live here,

but the more I try to avoid it,

the fuller and more clamorous it gets.

And I have been cast,

by myself,

in the part of constant smoother

and placator,

to save anyone else

the rasp and sting 

of this strange place…


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