Poised at the precipice
of surreality
and dreams
it's like those mumbo-jumbo
hazy hallucination
paintings
with clouds etching
out of nostrils
and grass
teeming with
debris--
pantomiming
symbols of
a forged
reality
But at the same time it's
artistic it is
also
literary
evocative
of all the
nostalgic
childhood
memories
a chapter-ending
with a clap
of covers
and a hand
reaching for a fresh tale
that will
take
me to
new lands
where dry spells are chased by
rain
and I'm left to my own
terms
I wonder what it takes to make
it in
an adult
world
So I don't know
don't ask me
what the next
several months hold
I'm scared
and sad
honestly
at the time time
I feel pulled
toward something
bright and beautiful
something that's all mine
And until then
I'll return
to the dreamlike canvas
rife
with monsters of
imagination
curlicue desires
all the tortured
artists pined for
like I'm
pining
just for
mine