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This spinning
by Paganini Jones
replete
gazing at the ceiling
torpid
the sky dances
fizzing
is that your face or mine?
in a blank square cavern
blackness
soft as eggs
or fur
or mist on a Sunday morning
spinning
we merge and flow.
elongation
of the senses
not scientific
always known
06/15/2004 Author's Note: No, to those wondering, I was not on anything. But sometimes you just have to let the brain hang loose and see what it offers. For those wondering about the brain hanging loose as a poetic tool, read Enid Blyton's Mystery books :)
Posted on 06/15/2004
Copyright © 2025 Paganini Jones
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 06/20/04 at 05:54 PM I really enjoyed this; full of lots of neat word combos. You'll have to let your brain hang loose more often, and come to think of it, so should I. :o) |
| Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 06/16/05 at 12:44 PM this spins as wonderfully as that top of yore in my youth. oh how it spun and as far as brains hanging loose the brain, I am all for it. a brain cannot be hung loose enough. no need for bolt and nuts and anchors which would make us or at least our brains seem all the more Frankensteinian. |
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