Thoughts

Thoughts plucked like red roses On a page in black-blue smudges In agreed upon meanings of characters In arrangement of sounds and syllables So that hat is the thing that lays upon the skull And not the fire that lives within it That transforms the desolate page to be a beacon A beacon for shared words and ideas to resonate To reflect on common understandings of life or what we think it may be On this page I can share thoughts I can share thoughts that have no form until spewed I can share with the hope of being understood Of other eyes and ears that accept the carefully constructed connotations The rhythms inside rhythms with feet that march with the unseen drummer that leads Or the visions The cloud-like froth of breath on windows overseeing snowflakes’ descent The shimmer of heat rising from the summer concrete after a child’s chalk invasion These sounds and sights that somehow tickle the back of the throat like carbonation Causing that spray of warmth up the nostril convincing the head of a pleasing bouquet A bouquet of cinnamon swirled around vanilla in a mug with gentle mists of aroma These senses we share enable us common understanding The poet then, perhaps is the conveyor of thought in puzzles Puzzles of sights, sounds and sensations that turn the abstract concrete Originating from an unformed electron Neurotransmitting into fingers or tongues Then coming to rest in their desired targets So that I and you become us And we understand one another which makes us all feel better in the end Do you think?