Reflections: White Scorpion

On each corner they stand
watching my every move,
mental guards,

protecting fantasy from reality;

I awake inside another room

of my imagination,

different than the first

with subtle colors of yellows and browns,

and no windows

or flower pots to clutter the space;

through the corner door,

I float and when I pass you

steal a kiss and plan our

next rendezvous;

from one room to the next,

I go and from one

sequence I go

with purpose

without end;

inside an ever-continuing

daydream (it seems)

outside the mainstream of life,

outside rational thought and

forever responsible to no one.

 

January 1989