Runcible Spoon

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The Runcible Spoon


Imagination is born of boredom, seaborne

in the doldrums, singing to hidden stars

isolated from the music, bored yet free

of habit and left to one’s devices, without

electrical current, with just the mind.  Mars

seems closer.  The runcible spoon more real,


the one-handed clap, the unheard fallen tree

in the forest quaking, the silent shout

the lightning strike after a thunderous peal.

These thoughts define and break the boredom

the ancient soul that finds itself safely

alone, embracing a moment as though it’d come

anointed and served by a feckless, indolent kingdom

but when our lives are cluttered, we fall dumb.