Poe et here

RAMBLING

There was a time when I thought

I should never write to anyone

About my “peanut butter roses”

But would rather in my corner

Sit munching on them

While playing the “sole” “soul” man

On guitar

Drinking my half-empty

Never half-full

Cup of bitter black coffee

It’s sunny to have someone

To smell with you

The peanut butter of life

I only wish I could write in 3-D.

Even that hasn’t enough depth.

Flat paper absorbs my ink-self

Flowing into the cellulose

Almost never fully extracted

By other eyes

With ink-absorbent retinas.

But smell the two-dimensional flower:

I want to look down

Omnipotently on the world.

The closest I ever was,

Standing on a mountain

Surveying the towns below.

Hardly the same

Looking down, down, down.

How far does down go

Before it becomes up?

I guess it depends

On which way you are traveling.