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FREE VERSE POEM​

THOMAS PIEKARSKI


ASLEEP INSIDE A CRYSAL BALL


​Back when superfluous fears
were upstaged by sham mirrors
the halls wobbled and moose trampled
garbage dumps. We had much fun battling
fire ants in our tree house
as I thumped my head to acknowledge
the sky was still up there and toes
attached to feet. Without a doubt
there were words of warning in the wind,
scirocco that swept across a vast landscape
caressing my cumulous brain. The insights
I acquired from pondering future cataclysms
pierced deep into my anatomy peppered with
deception, graft, injustice and convoluted
physics. Down the immaculate slope
of a virgin glacier slid previous personages,
crucified Christians, Indians, Prussian
soldiers, submissive women, soda jerks.
Avid to reach instantaneous conclusions
I was catapulted to where rain poured
mercifully upon the parched desert. In praise
of immortal pleasures winged dragons flew
from a Gothic cathedral stained glass window
into the misty atmosphere during which Time
snoozed. Carnal lust vanished. The body
ripped, unconscious. Tendinitis gripped Earth,
which wobbled a bit out of synch. Either that
or my equilibrium had come into conjunction
with the hanged man, but no tarot available
to clarify. Resolute and impeccably prepared
I stared at Pandora, spit in her milky eye,
then she whipped around and screeched
like some half-lit banshee out of control.



Thomas Piekarski is a former editor of the California State Poetry Quarterly. His poetry has appeared in such publications as Poetry Quarterly, Literature Today, The Journal, Poetry Salzburg, Modern Literature, South African Literary Journal, and Home Planet News. His books of poetry are Ballad of Billy the Kid, Monterey Bay Adventures, Mercurial World, and Aurora California.
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