I fly past a daily grind
Don't let it trick you - this flight.
It isn't anything graceful.
Rather a lumber
And a tumbling down
From chore to chore
For more to some more
Of Godforsaken things.
I love them mostly
Or believe I do.
Except the dishing part!
That, I love? I do not!
Suds in the sink, form and pop
As I watch them in preoccupation
The visual seems to register
And then doesn't!
Pop - The reminder.
Pop up, that is
Of the ramble that awaits here
To be doodled
Almost in an urgency,
Like someone somewhere is waiting
To see what I would ponder about
And string in aplomb
Or settle in stupor
Scattering scrambled words to make a note.
I ramble, and I roam
I settle as I reach home -
The one that is abstract
A heap of wordage that cocoons me
And aids my metamorphosis.
If you are here,
Who ever you are..
I know not!
But you should know
I draw from you, as much as I write for me.
For us may be?
In this doodle where words and pictures blur
And become one.
Just like you and me.
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