the wire ceiling

i chase the thought bubble
down myriad streets
sunlit noise and slow traffic

what does the reply teach?
i shove the day around
pushing an abstract idea

invisible writer
inhales truth
exhales fiction

i observe his hand-drawn trash cans
draw new door
step through it
paint appealing window

ecstatic writer
drives her own traffic
without a car
caged bird climbs a ladder

 

by mary ann blinkhorn

 

 

the stars in the sky act up, then settle

she stares at a midnight page
frankness, beginning and end
the cure, a changing heart

i am not art
but I know her

resting on park bench
she contemplates lateral thinking
how they had smirked
at her “what ifs”

she tries to wrap her mind around it
the idea that ink found new home in nice-looking flowery jacket
with half-crazed sunny-faced owner

thoughts dismissed
time to write new page

by mary ann blinkhorn