where EVERYTHING is made of PUDDING
how can i ever see the world -
the miles of rivers; veins,
capillaries that curl between
the dewy surface of an eyelid and
the part that touches you without sensation?
how will i ever see the world -
the depths i long to scale;
the ocean, whose waves crash
against brown panes of tinted glass?
it's dangerous to see the world -
the blackest jungle, wild drum
beat underground, the fever heat
that gives such heavy flowers means to bloom.
but plans i plan to see the world
some one-way ticket kind of plans.
a life i'll live inside that world;
i'll leave my footprints in its sands.
i'll write an atlas of that world
and put to shame all other lands.