just discovered what they call mind maps

meant to run to the vowel market
but because of being on foot
and a cloud train passed by and chugged low
and most were empty it was impossible
to resist the hop and little could
knowledge anticipate but they

were just winding up their own adventure
– reckon there is a farmer down the road
wishing he could get to cutting hay –
so now these whereabouts are
a mystery but it’s a fair bet
to guess it’s best to lust little

for the visit to the vowel market
– try to not think how it came to light
about the fresh a shipment arrival –
that time of year, nice and plump things,
grab a dozen or so, but usually
that’s just an excuse to watch the natives

browse and they have stalls where strong drink
is cheap and a guy can just sit and sip
and partake like he’s in the friendliest
orchard of a million optical hits
to his portable nightclub; maybe
next time; for now a smoke will have to suffice


About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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