i suppose you’d find it hard to believe that at my age i can easily climb to my treehouse but i can and do it’s where i go to be alone with my thoughts trying to make sense of the senseless or finish a dream that i didn’t want to end i’ve been going there for years whenever life becomes chaotic or just too depressing for words i go there for a little r&r now if for some reason you can’t recall your childhood treehouse or hiding place you may want to increase your cognitive load and reconstruct it you’d be surprised how much magical healing is still there
lord that child is always taking things apart can’t accept what is has to know how things work and wants to know the why of everything ain’t never gonna fit in oh my goodness did you see the wonderful thing that child just made
returning questions the ones so hard to suppress waking one from sleep queries you’ve had from childhood the ones with pretend answers that answer nothing at all
for the longest time
i’ve wanted
to ask
aunt bea
why she keeps those
far less
than
perfect
childhood sculptures
we made
mixed in
with
her
fine porcelain
aunt bea
said
those of us
who have
maintained
some level of sanity
are aware
of
our imperfections
and
are able to
carry on
while some folks
fervently pursue
what does not
exist
perfection
becoming
paralyzed
absorbed
into
the social madness
of
life
those early
artistic endeavors
of yours
were made
with
love
and
innocence
and as such
are
perfect
child
seems like
every channel
i
turn to
has one of those
cooking competitions
do you remember
when your mom
bought
that
turquoise
easy-bake oven
for
christmas
and
we made
stuff
the dog
wouldn’t even eat
well sugar
they even got
a show
with
an easy-bake oven
for
adults
adults who are
either
trying to win
some
cash
or
just some
time away
from
their children
in any case
there’s always
some panel
of
judges
who dish out
verdicts
in the same manner
as
the justice system
so
what you bake
or
cook
is still evaluated
by
the way you look
so
honey
it ain’t
no competition
just
confirmation
sounds in the night
those
like
someone
moving around
oh it’s
just
the house settling
or
the wind
but it’s
a windless night
so
sounds
without
a logical explanation
quickly
convert
to those
childhood stories
oh
not the fairytales
but
the ones told
by
cantankerous uncles
engaged
in
scaring
the bejesus
out of
over confident teens
young males
whose
alpha status
is being tested
by
a group
of
old men
holding court
in
gramma’s old house
where
they too
first learned
the stories
now embellished
to
fit the times
and
of course
with the knowledge
that
the feral cats
always
wander around
this
time of night
what woke you
at
night
when you were
a child
still lingers
in
the darkness
haunting
the hours
before dawn
but
for
some poor souls
it lingers
throughout
the day
and though
these are
no more
than created ghosts
harmless apparitions
that
cannot touch
nor
be touched
their mere
presence
in the light of day
fosters
anxieties
spinning
the mind
like
a child playing
with
an old toy top
creating
a dark loneliness
an invisible veil
that conceals
the colors
of
the world
leaving only
shades
of gray
and
dark shadows
turning
each day
into
a child’s night
seems like a harmless toy
but
i’ve begun to wonder
if it wasn’t
an early indoctrination
about mexico
and
its people
people
portrayed
by
speedy gonzales
and
pablo
a gun packing
and
no doubt
violent
lazy mouse
while
speedy’s
promiscuous nature
was conveyed
in lines
like
speedy gonzales
is
friend of my sister
quickly
appended by
speedy gonzales
is friend
of
everyone’s
sister
what strange
saturday morning lesson
to
precede sunday school’s
love thy neighbor
oh
and don’t
get me started
about
three black crows
Read Between the Minds 