.
There is no room for my ideas
in this tiny indoor space.
They creep out from under my doors
and through window sills
searching for identity.
My ideas are a mess on the floor
I must clean up.
I disapprove of them-
the way they move around, meander
and refuse to stay
within my limits
No discipline! No respect for authority!
I begin to wonder,
what right have I
to try to corral them
like so many black sheep
into false coherency?
Who am I to play Hitler?
But when my regime crumbles
and I am forced to stand trial, I realize
(with the sadness of an out-of-work God)
that my ideas chose me
for better
or for worse.
*
(3- 26- 80)
© Kevin Paul Keelan and lastcre8iveiconoclast, 2019. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Kevin Paul Keelan and lastcre8iveiconoclast with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
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