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05/26/09 - (1)
Porkpie Hat
Then, one day, Just like that (whatever that "that" or this "that" was/is) You looked around for your self,
But your self was nowhere to be found, If, indeed, "nowhere" was tantamount to "thin air," "Thin air" to the place where your existence disappeared.
And that was pretty much all there was to that "that" Or should have been, anyway, Had you not surfaced, in a bad dream, sometime after that,
Not as a recognizable idiom Or in a disguised or compromised identity of your former self But as a porkpie hat with five snouts and seven trotters
And three squiggly tails and a high-pitched anxiety-squeal — A porcine hat being assailed by a lupine beast Huffing, puffing down the bad dream in which your self was hiding,
Hiding from what, from whom, other than Mr. Big Bad himself, You hadn't a clue, unless it was that your self was you, The you who then, one day, just like that,
Disappeared into a dream, wearing a big, bad squiggly-tailed hat That flew up a chimney flue, squealing your name, As if it knew something you didn't or something you definitely did.
05/26/09 - (1)
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