How does a caterpillar  become a butterfly.

How does it feel inside the chrysalis.

Is it aware of anything changing.

When does it become aware again.

How does it wait so patiently

to dry off its wings,  and fly.

Does it have any memory

of when it could only crawl.

How long does it think it will be,

before it is something else.

How did every molecule of its beautiful

wings know exactly what color

to choose.

bowling balls keep falling out of your ears and

I want you to be careful because

I don’t want to break my stilettos.

She said––

your knee caps are schools of fish

that sometimes take off   in different directions

and if you don’t get better climbing the stairway

I can’t let you visit   anymore.

She said––

you are an apple, but I’m the tree,

so don’t ever hurt me, because

you’ll only be hurting yourself.

She said––

you are a spaceman and the only grounding you have

is the dust on the bottom of your space boots,

and that’s o.k. but why can’t you have more gravity,

when you look at the stars in my eyes.

and there’s nothing left of me.  all my particles and particulars  blown apart  like

little grains of salt in the ocean.

what a relief it must be   when I am floating so free. . .

inside the rolling waves.

before I re-assemble

and then eventually   begin to tremble

thinking I’m someone,

and only me.

The pavement is burning behind me.

I hold my thoughts real still,

I don’t blip the radar.

I slam through little towns like a crazy dust devil,

swirl into the Tiny Mart for food and drink.

White lines yellow lines white lines yellow lines.

Scenery goes upside down through my optic nerve,

is flipped by my brain, and then whispers

every thought I ever had, and then forgot, and then

had again, and then forgot again.

The bigger the map I have, the smaller the roads I take.

I drive through some towns because of their name.

It all flashes by and is gone.

Mirages of water stretch like fake lakes and oceans

ready to blaze at the kiss of a Zippo.

I drift like waves trying to climb stairs.

I float on the ocean in a boat with no name,

get tossed in the hurricane.

from an airplane you can see me,   just a dot

down below,  floating in circles to and fro,

either running away or trying to go home.

adrift in eternity on the endless sea.

wherever it comes from,   wherever it goes,

seems you have to lose everything,

or how do you know.

and I stare at my coffee

but I can’t see the future.

if I could, I’d want to change it,

but that’s not part of the bargain.

the past is either set in concrete,

or a mirror full of strobe lights–

the coffee won’t explain that either.

everything I do

sets something    in motion

I get dizzy.