Being Taken In...
Robert Michael O'Hearn
Vacating wind takes to overwrought comatose sleep
like a backsliding bard does to writers block.
Suddenly both expectations rise up and stare back
at you, lacking cigarettes to chain smoke paper cut doll,
patterning thoughts. Although heavy is the pouring rain.
A child's iris peers through a full water glass balloons,
like a fly's antennae stuck in maple syrup.
The ongoing perceptions engage and redact from any purpose
as one mindfully moons other curiosity seekers peering in,
invariably abstracting your innocence from solipsist aims.
Being down equates to what's up, swinging upside down
from a resident tree limb, swaying like a rocking bat.
A carefree hourglass shifts sand back and forth as
peeping in, flashing irises, characteristically alert,
foreshadow a new moonlight with more petulant cadence.
An old man's beard becomes like a permanent mole,
while a young man's torso fruitlessly blazons on.
Another signing off, like the blowing of taps
before life's perilous adventure even began,
and a full hairline begins its receding adventure.
