The trouble with idealism – Poem

Human heat?  Hello listener, cut

off the coiled inertia here, come and

talk some sense into me.  I

once rolled clay into snakes

and snaked it into the long

thin tube half vase, half


hydraulic smoking vessel.

Then I fired it into

a rocketship shaped beer stein.

A flop of a try, I lowered

my standards.  All hail Stafford.  All hell is like

high school heartbreak.  I knew behind


the clutch of each clothespin and safety pin

I’d never contain this.  M said

the experience was nothing new

that we each feel


different.  Nobody belongs.

Confetti settled around her despair

and I tipped my pilsner to head to my

electric heated Mazda 3.


Some listeners have been lesseners

and despite this, I keep climbing


towards union.  A state

like shivasana, flat gathered


releif that neither dulls nor

sets you on fire.


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