IDEAS
Ideas like ossicles
vibrate in my ears.
Ideas like icicles
drip
from the eaves of my memory.
Ideas like bicycles
pedal across my
brainpan.
Ideas like tricycles
ring-ring like bells
and flutter
like ribbons in the breeze.
Ideas like triglycerides
course through
my veins
humming with energy.
Ideas like hieroglyphics
play out
in patterns on the wall
undecipherable.
Ideas are fictitious,
written and unspoken,
oral and real,
puddling in the recesses
of
a dark, unstable
reality.
© 2006, William Dickenson Cohen
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