captured within a dream

eyes of the portable jury
doing secondary duty chose
to paint the doors off-white, not that singularly
a specific player was up to
acting on that degree of scrutiny,

the degree the intimate degree, meaning,
and besides, this was hardly the time to stop
and apply this intimate scrutiny, because
to verify one door meant verifying
every single door and this corridor

consisted of numerous doors; and believe
this or don’t believe it but numbers
did not adorn the doors and besides that, light
was not then and there the most abundant
element. French vanilla ice cream sought

emergence as a descriptor,
but in the distance a glow began to throb
and the lost adventurer felt the comfort
of knowing it was perfectly okay
to relax about numbers and color names


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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