Not Your Ordinary Book Poem by Troy Cochran

Upon this train of thought
the changing scenes

present an aspect to my mind
that only dreams.

It has forgotten how to think
in block-by-block.

It wants to think in streams,
to leap from rock to rock

with moss in hair; in truth
and dare; the way a boy dreams

when he pulls the whole sky down
around him just to talk to God,

there where no one sees
because they never think to look.

I think my soul is not
your ordinary book,

and fields of wheat or maize
or even cityscapes

are yellows, greens, and grays
that can be molded into other shapes;

and hurling through the days
at such extreme velocity

opens up a different way
of being next to you.