Staring At A Word... Poem by RIC BASTASA

it is this spontaneity that
keeps us going
there is no count nothing about
what's next
nothing planned, we are passive
receptors of what this
future brings us
upon a plate of waiting,

chairs may float in the air
the house may sail like a ship
the skies may just be like space
trips and unexplained as they are
unidentified

like the way we feel when we come
again together in
this nakedness of thoughts

flowers blossom no one pulls its stamen
the sun is up at whose command?

the waves move together towards that direction
as clocks tick, and ducks sail as

i try to capture the words to make things
what they are. There is no such thing.

i stare at a word, and force no meaning.