Today I watched a man
try to swat the flies in his head--
those voices too small to separate
Yet too large to ignore. The static
between radio stations, the pop
of bacon grease in the pan.
He spun and hollered, cursed
and cajoled--a drunken maestro
swarmed by unruly notes.
I didn't know him
but I recognized him.
I recognized that man, too, though I don't know him, either.
Science has been mulling the possible existence of parallel universes and whether we could travel between them.
This man doesn't ask such foolish questions. He knows. In his mind there are many mansions.
Posted by: trainwatcher | December 17, 2011 at 04:20 PM
I love this poem SO MUCH! This is great. Send it out!
Posted by: Angela | December 26, 2011 at 01:51 PM