surrealist in nonsense
As I sat contemplating
what goes on inside your heads,
my mind began to wander
through sheets of unmade beds,
Past the carousels of raisin blooms,
onward to the queen,
far beyond the velvet lace
where the nice men all are mean.
And on within a child’s last frown,
my thoughts did roam forlorn,
where ants did dream of being men
long before their sons were born.
Then further still the journey goes,
through painted glass and silk,
to swim refreshed as April snow
in a lake of mother’s milk.
To walk again, or run, or fly
past tables made of bread,
with chairs designed by walking sticks
with their faces painted red.
Beside a river of solid gold,
I stopped to rest awhile,
and chatted with a stranger
who wore a flowered smile.
She spoke of reasons not to speak,
and threw her hands up high,
then waddled off from whence she came,
and a tree began to cry.
Its sobs began first soft and low,
but soon began to wail.
Twas then I quickly realized
I was standing on its tail.
“Now gone again, be gone amI,”
I shouted as I fled,
not looking back at walking sticks,
nor tables made of bread.
But on past kittens purring,
and on past clouds of green,
up sides of mountains shivering,
through fields where rocks can sing.
As though a madman by logic pursued,
I ran as never before,
when there I saw a building
with a single open door.
Inside I ran as fast as could be
and darted up the stair.
In a lonely room at the end of the hall
was a single lonely chair.
“Quickly now, sit down,” said I,
“best not a moment delay,”
And upon reflection, I did vow,
“I’ll go again… another day.”