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I sit with a pencil to my head

once upon a time I swam
I frolicked
I owned that stream

succulent little phrases floated freely
words so ripe their juices bled
into my consciousness

but not today
today I am bound up and hollow
strips of decaying ideas hang where vitality should be
shear will holding the illusion of form

don’t pull that thread!

you will see the effervescent girl is gone
and she has taken her champagne filled quill with her
the only thing left is this brown spongy stuff
press it and it folds like the gills of a Portobello

you might as well toss this fungi into the headwaters
let me bob about soaking up your brilliance

thing about mushrooms is they always come back

I’m linking this Stream of Consciousness poem to dVerse for Meeting at the Bar. This prompt for me was a struggle. I gave up and this is what I got.

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