found object

by alafoel

Silence.

sits down, and takes notice
of the picture frame hanging
at a slight
angle
and does her best not to
move.
Resists the urges to
stand back up
and fix it.

Suppresses the twitches of horn,
keeps mind blank as can be.
Distractions are what cloud
cloud the mind,
pull creativity to its dead end.
“artist’s block”.
but continues to stare at the frame,
the picture inside.
with her sister, smiling,
a memory.
a life.
To run in the same three circles,
chunks of brain reworking,
nothing new to spout but
reimagined and regurgitated
offals of past experiences and
past dresses sewn patchwork
to make nothing new.

something new would flow,
so with eyes straight ahead,
at the misty dust nothingness
of a clean space.
and ears straining not to hear
bird song from outside
but only the brain’s own vibrations.
If possible.

And the hoof that bounces
reflexively
at the end of a jittery leg,
must soon silence too
when the conscious mind notices.
jittery legs, bouncy hooves, are not ideas.
not ideas, not dresses.
but soon one will come.
if it takes all day.

and knocks on the door are not dresses
and pangs of hunger are not dresses
and romantic novels are not dresses
and flutters of wind are not dresses
and yearning muscles are not dresses
and empty hearts are not dresses
and tired faces are not dresses
and sleepy eyes are not dresses
and morning suns are not dresses
and gloomy minds are not dresses
and cogitations on thoughts on overthinkings are not dresses
and time spent alone in uncomfortable chairs are not dresses
and none of these
are dresses