baitfish waiting

as he sits down to write
he thinks …
just a small poem

his mind
on its path
sought
the open out there

stripped the plaster from walls
removed tiles
from the roof
and bricks
they flew high
and were flung
right away

the glass in the windows
shattered

he ponders a while
then ventures
tentative
a beginning

open is not free
his mind leapt
up into the air

rising above the plinth
and the debris
what once was a house
a constraint
now the rubble
of some lost despair

he types
a mundane thought
an interesting
tendril 

words formed from keystrokes
gathered in air
black
massed at his shoulder
and swirling
swirling

at last he is sparked
by a well-formed phrase
and this is the start
of his writing
in earnest

like a shoal of baitfish
words surrounded his head
then his body

sentences leading
paragraphs in formations
of smooth
and gliding curves

and he
their primary predator
able to feast
with a thought

with a flourish
he bangs out
a new
startling
idea

in a flash of quicksilver
and ellipsis
they arrow the sky
in the direction
of sun

he now
in laughter
flying with them

and oh
oh
oh
such joy

whoop
on whoop
he flies

pensive at last
he stops
gazes at his surrounds

it’s a shock
in a way
to realize the ceiling
is present

the walls
remain
are in place

his keyboard is resting
still
as it was
on the kitchen table

but my
how he feels
he has flown

slowly
in black streams
unsentenced
the words
de-bundle in straight lines
at his shoulder

return
in orderly fashion
into his mind

who knows
when the next time might be
he’ll release them
but
they are there
at his whim
to command


© Frank Prem, 2016

Poem #16: conditional garden

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7 thoughts on “baitfish waiting

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