The Tangle

Originally posted 11/24/2013.

This tangled mind 
takes the word “mouse”
and transforms it
to “rocket” or “dagger”

or “fishing shack”
when I hear it spoken;
the thought of vermin feet
in my walls becomes

a space race,
a war,
a life
on the sea.  

Hear mouse, realize everything. 

This is something that is Wrong with me
according to the arbiters of Right, 
but I’ve learned to live with it.
I’ve turned into 
a poet, though.

I mostly call it blessing and not curse,
though when I thought

the word “blessing”
I admit at first I heard

“California redwoods” and then “magma”
as “blessing” became a vision
of forests jumping into blaze
along rivers 
and roads of liquid fire.  

Blessing is fire here within me.

Any one word leads me to another
as fire leads to ash, as flash flood
leads to canyon, as mouse
leads to dagger rocket fishing shack,

as blessing leads
to volcano-sparked trees
lit like candles
along the coast… 

Shh, says the Universe,
by which I mean

the dying willow
in the backyard.  


About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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