This Is Not About Sassafrass... Poem by Dairedee BurrisLandwehr

Yesterday, or was it today?
I met a metaphysically challenged metaphysics-ist,
Saying if’s and buts were not enough; smiling, he gave a list of

solar cysts and lunar bruises; causes, reasons, and allusions
why the night is not the day, and whether the weather
is really to blame.

These answers appear in my third ear,
Whispering dissention to stop my attention,
Spanning the year I worry and fear

When you’re not here. Not here. Not here.

malignant fingers point out our lazy,
hazy, lingering days. Nights we
took shots

of seven grains and candy canes
that made robots of our perfected, now infected
store-bought, commercially rot-ted brains.

The trains! The Trains! They’re driving me insane.
They howl and scream and call my name.
Come play, they say; come ride - we’ll pay.

Don’t buy the ticket if you’re off track.
Don’t listen to the whistle,
let it drive you

out of wack.

It will promise freedom. It will sing of truth, but
The facts are always hidden when
You’re trapped in the caboose.

Last in line, first to lose
the useless noose we used to use
is hanging by a thread.

It’s buried in the yard, instead
Of being in my head; and as I’m told
That’s what you do

with things you think are gone and dead.



I’d use my hair for the repair, but
I cut it short on an impulse dare;
Strand-ing myself in the highest lair

without a window,
Door, or
Stair

And I’m sure that I’m alone
In the night with my mares; still dreaming
that someday I’ll know where

I am.

I wonder if I’m under
The indigo illusions and moon rhythms
We rap.

They fly out of mouths, downs soul holes
And back. Watch for the smoke,
It allures, tricks, and traps

Until the phases wax and wane
At exactly the same time. The solar
Eclipse flips the switch, and

Realigns our words in
Rhythms,
songs and rhymes.

Those words are stored
without complaint,
I’ve locked that door (locked behind doors, and sealed up with paint)

And wasted paint

where we,
a race of last-placed turtles in (shells) and
out of space

planning our daring mind (filled) escape,
just in case
the world ‘s a waste.

A burning building
in the desert between you and me,
where stone(r) s lie (down) and bones dry



up?

If you’re looking for the glass
To flee and trespass
The wonder

Land -

Sea me first.
I’ll satisfy your high and thirst with
The ocean’s potion: perceptual motion, or

rich earth soils, deep and loyal.
Fly inside the outward Yesterday, or was it today?
I met a metaphysically challenged metaphysics-ist,
Saying if’s and buts were not enough; smiling, he gave a list of

solar cysts and lunar bruises; causes, reasons, and allusions
why the night is not the day, and whether the weather
is really to blame.

These answers appear in my third ear,
Whispering dissension to stop my attention.
Spanning the year I worry and fear

When you’re not here. Not here. Not here.

Malignant fingers point out our lazy,
hazy, lingering days. Nights we
took shots

of seven grains and candy canes
that made robots of our perfected, now infected
store-bought, commercially rot-ted brains.

The trains! THE TRAINS! They’re driving me insane.
They howl and scream and call my name.
Come play, they say; come ride, - we’ll pay.

Don’t buy the ticket if you’re off track.
Don’t listen to the whistle,
let it drive you

out of wack.

It will promise freedom. It will sing of truth, but
The facts are always hidden when
You’re trapped in the caboose.

Last in line, first to lose
the useless noose we used to use
is hanging by a thread.

It’s buried in the yard, instead
Of being in my head; and as I’m told
That’s what you do

with things you think are gone and dead.

I’d use my hair for the repair, but
I cut it short on an impulse dare;
Strand-ing myself in the highest lair

without a window,
Door, or
Stair.

And I’m sure that I’m alone
In the night with my mares; still dreaming
that someday I’ll know where

I am.

I wonder if I’m under
The indigo illusions and moon rhythms
We rap.

They fly out of mouths, downs soul holes
And back. Watch for the smoke,
It allures, tricks, and traps

Until the phases wax and wane
At exactly the same
time. The solar eclipse flips the switch, and

Realigns our words in
Rhythms,
songs and rhymes.

Those words are stored
without complaint,
I’ve locked that door

And wasted paint

where we,
a race of last-placed turtles in (shells) and
out of space

planning our daring mind (filled) escape,
just in case
the world ‘s a waste.

A burning building
in the desert between you and me,
where stone(r) s lie (down) and bones dry

up?

If you’re looking for the glass
To flee and trespass
The wonder

Land -

Sea me first.
I’ll satisfy your high and thirst with
The ocean’s potion: perceptual motion, or

rich earth soils, deep and loyal.
Fly inside the outward sky, star crossed tracks
Crissed in

Moon rivers flowing back.
words aren't included if my mind intruded.
Sunshine stings the heart and lung, but

In my dimension
I am the god and the dess -
One and all.sky, star crossed tracks
Crissed in

Moon rivers flowing back,
words and songs
Sunshine stings the heart and lung

In my dimension
I am the god and the dess -
One and all.