Poem 12: 6/2/01

a tribute to a James Lee & Abraham improvisation

Below the shadow
dream illusions,
electric thoughts
spun in a web
on neural network
skeletal highways.

Colony of caterpillars
wriggle across mind's
cerebral byways;
thoughts left unwritten
are bones left to write,
left behind.

We become bones
left to dry
on dust roads,
arid and barren
but we have words
that churn parchment
of our mouths:
the brain,
left and right,
left behind.

Cocooning, words weave
into eloquent wings
floating through doors
open to air.
Words become poems,
thoughts that can fly
into day,
light on the sky.
Open the door
with butterfly wings;
hinges open and close
left to right.

Illusion floats freeform
leaving no substance;
dreams drift out windows
into the wind,
left to write, left behind.

Transient in finity,
substance in sight
when feeling thoughts
as the words left to read,
left behind.

© 2001 Dave Scheler

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