Most days I stumble, stumble,
stumble, crashing
into these… unthought thoughts.
They manifest
themselves like heartbeats,
breaths, or baffling dreams,
and like those things, they simply
are.
They turn up in my mind’s
departure lounge,
hoping to catch a flight of fancy
(also
known as a poem). Most of them
will
journey no further, having come
from only God
knows where, to nowhere else: the
nowhere of
ideas; placed and then displaced.
As far as I’m aware, they vanish
with
as little will as they arise.
Today,
there was a nothing thought; a
thought
so nondescript it barely was, and
yet
it flew on one of Fancy’s happy
flights
and landed safely on this poet’s
page.
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