The thought lives a life
of its own. You wouldn’t know
from the skull, like everyone else.
Inside, there’s a needle, inside,
there’s a wire. Inside.
The thought is taking out a mortgage,
trimming the front yard, dragging
planks to the side of the road.
The thought is taking up residence.
Soon, there will be a neighborhood
welcoming party, cocktails, words
without words. Meanwhile, the thinker
will be wandering somewhere, a new
thought: Now, where did I put that?
Away to the Other
You’ve got to know kung-fu, my childhood
tells me. In case you need it. One day,
you will need a grapple hook. You will drive
like a king.
The adventure you find in adventure stories
will be your own. Must rescue, must
stay cool and placid in the face of evil,
always have a quick answer.
Move away from the man-child to
the other, who used to sit at the kitchen
table and design a valor-filled dream.
It begins at the base, a series
of background questions.
Then the story is spread out
Leaf to branch to leaf, a face
of a protagonist, a villain,
a few strange quotations.
One way, the story branches to
a satisfying locus of foliage.
The other way, the way is broken,
splintered, falls breathless to the ground.