Red brake lights never meant stop to me; not really.
Red stop lights do, and red stop signs, of course.
But there is something about red brake lights.
They are fickle. They are enticing.
I stop in a physical sense, yes, as do the rest of the mildly frustrated travelers stuck in their metallic boxes.
But my mind, that follows them further, past the congestion and into the crimson distortion.
I wanted to be a stepping stone
So it’s no fault but my own I was too unstable a place to rest
I’ve known that the best things are those that are familiar
A bench, a tree, a running stream
The types of places you only meant to spend a second but stayed a day
A place for only a foot was not my intent
Yes, I was a place you only meant to stop by
But you never waited long enough to realize
I could be an island
A cluttered desk betrays a cluttered mind,
but I try not to paint it as more than such.
My mental acuity is more complex than an askew stapler, a half-drunk coffee.
I wrote a silly poem today,
Easier to keep the thoughts at bay,
Reckless, breaking thoughts lay down there teeming,
Subconsciously I’m surely scheming,
As I lay, awake and dreaming,
Begging for no deeper meaning,
No metaphors, no why’s or could’s,
No memories of my childhood.
So childish words swim, right and left,
While my adult brain remains bereft,
Struggling with mountains of excess,
10 years now I’ve overslept,
Still 50 more until my death,
But I wrote a silly poem today,
To appease a mind that always strays,
A mind like mine, that’s never caged,
So I may put upon a page,
what repeats itself from age to age,
So I wrote a silly poem today,
It’s almost just as important to have nothing to say.
Andrew M. Jaromin 