At Some Time... Poem by RIC BASTASA

to be a sponge-head
amidst the rain in the yard of the red district
just an ear
not a face, just an ear detached left to dry
upon a deserted
street,

to listen and not be be a host to a lot
of emotions
to be just a canvass to the bright colors
to be just the soil to the flowers
a fence
of a certain perimeter

to open one eye and stare and close the other
and feel
to blink and then remember

to hold my own arms and rub my own shoulder
to lay my head upon a stone and
savor the hardness and
numbness

the soles of my feet to be acquainted with the
sands of the shores
at high noon

to live in a faraway planet where there is no sun
to sleep and be not dead

to wrap a secret like a gift upon the self
to count the locks of the hair

to breathe like it is the last free air
to smile as though the lips and teeth have a deadline to meet

to type the period in the poem
to stop the fingers from encountering another blank space

a world in a ring
where there is no more beginning where there is no more end