Mind Room

It isn’t easy living

in a one

room house

Where all your eyes

are upon

my walls

Keeping all

my toes

in check

What terrible

twist of fate

To have this

clock of eyes

Instead of there

being these

hands of time

But still in all

there mite

be some

Who want

to come

and see

where ………

A mind that

seldom moves

I’ve collected

to much


instead of

rooms to live

So if you come

be sure

not to step

There isn’t

room to spare

or even

a spot

For all has

been taken over

with my

over sized



5 thoughts on “Mind Room

  1. In Schippol Airport, in Amsterdam, there are moving walkways. Instead of having monsters with teeth at the end, lurking in wait of toes, theirs has a gap between the belt conveying people and their baggage, and the hard floor. So instead of losing just one’s toes, one could be sucked lock, stock, and barrel, right down into the bowels of the sewer system of Amsterdam where junkies await you grinning with needles…And all the while an impassive recorded female voice repeats endlessly: “Mind the gap. Mind the gap. Mind the gap.”

    Notwithstanding the gap, I wonder what would happen if you were to add another storey to your house of the mind? One in which I could come to visit you, mounting to the next invisible floor, say, on a more friendly moving walkway that would stop when I said so, and thus be able to stay for a bit and visit without stepping on your thoughts and dreams?

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