Mark Matthews Poet Rhyme

Wandering Mind

Here I write,
but I don't know why
it's either that 
or stare at the sky,
and as I ponder
what to scribe next,
inspiration fills my text.
The infamous thoughts
swirl all about,
smearing together
until they come out,
creating clear green skies
filled with mingling flies
and rolling red grassy knolls
with fluffy plants sprouting bowls.
As scaly monkeys
swim through the air
I catch a whiff
of a couch tree over there,
supporting burley potatoes
holding a remote and a flair,
throwing their garbage overhead
without a care.
And then without another thought
it fades onto an orange fog,
so thick that all of the images
disappear into the smog.

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