A Bob Ross Mountain

 We need to have crazy moments,

so the brain,

it towers with the trees,

and travels through rifts in time.

A scenic ravine with a few

floating alien brains with tentacles.

They’re finding a peaceful way

to take over outer space.

A Bob Ross Mountain.

Oh boy!

A happy little tree!

Those squid brains look so free.

Yet they’re surprisingly reminiscent

of a burning giraffe,

or the elephant on stilts,

or the blue woman propped up

on her crutches,

dangling her offering.

She’s a far cry from

the famous melting clock.

Give One Up

 My limbs are all I have,

and I’ll pass on

luxurious commodities

in case I have to Give One Up

to meet immediate needs.

A Concept

 Preconceived notions.

Misconceptions,

here’s A Concept;

I am not who you believe me to be.

I am not melancholy in the ear.

I cannot give into the dreary notion.

The motion

of what you want me to be

shadows the wonder

once known as my life.

Ancient

 My fingers on the pulse,

but the beat of blank is weak.

I can’t shake the feeling

of existential dread;

which follows me

where I tread.

A bit of bodily panic ages

my internal clock to Ancient.

It suddenly doesn’t matter

how young I am,

I’m old.