The Thingamajigs

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Abstract

the more refined shape of a reality gone rogue.I can lay my little lines down in any labyrinthine geometry my subconscious deems fit for making a little more overt, ostentatious.I can pull them ever tauter like the puppet strings of a constellation around the neck of an eye that has yet to blink above me.I can dream a lucid lazuli fantasia into being and then back again to blackest black with a simpler grace.<p id

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="0c1a">I can rearrange the chaos of each endless nothing into a sparkling order never divined before or since.This, I can.And yet, I’ve always been told that I cannot — too content to believe the others as if also unaware of the scheming possibility that each naysayer is merely another one of these jesting thingamajigs that my imagination can’t seem to stop tightening into the most hopeless knot I call the soul.</article></body>

A poem

I can rend the mind and bend the breath into the more refined shape of a reality gone rogue.

I can lay my little lines down in any labyrinthine geometry my subconscious deems fit for making a little more overt, ostentatious.

I can pull them ever tauter like the puppet strings of a constellation around the neck of an eye that has yet to blink above me.

I can dream a lucid lazuli fantasia into being and then back again to blackest black with a simpler grace.

I can rearrange the chaos of each endless nothing into a sparkling order never divined before or since.

This, I can.

And yet, I’ve always been told that I cannot — too content to believe the others as if also unaware of the scheming possibility that each naysayer is merely another one of these jesting thingamajigs that my imagination can’t seem to stop tightening into the most hopeless knot I call the soul.