I like to unscrew my crown,
ease it off slowly, small fingers grip
just above my ears
and unravel the looping gray tendrils
of my brain
casting them out like a
slightly spongy
lasso.
sometimes the strands catch
wandering thoughts
hanging lightly in the air--
other times they slap the unsuspecting
birds in their trajectories
with a mighty th-whock! and knock them
clean out of the sky
occasionally they come between lovers lipping goodbye--
those are the nights I dream of sex.
mostly I just like to let them sit
and soak in the smells and sound
of the softly throbbing ground-beat--
which is the only how
on the way to know,
isn't it?
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