Return to site

Box Cars in Your Brain

Poem

Riddles, leak from your mouth like stepping stones across the valley of your thoughts, parachutes connecting the string of ideas that tumble from the train cars through your mind.

 

I would love to be a scuba-diver in your brain, to leap into the neurons as they fire rapidly in every direction; I would peer at them from my goggle-filmed eyes and examine each one like the bubbles of a passing fish.

I would swim around the tidepools behind your eyes, and then leap from your eyelid and ride the salt water down your cheak to the galexy outside your mind.

 

Perhaps, if I didn’t feel like scuba-diving, I would travel by train, catching every box car around your brain before they tipped, spilling ideas like oil, or paint, or liquid gold; I would climb to the top and watch the mess unravel in sticky words and colorful splatters across the canvas where your lips paint.

 

If I felt like it, I would bring my paints and brushes with me; I would throw color on every thought before it escaped your mouth, I would tint each with yellow, and make them into sunsets so when you speak your words would melt like butter.

 

I’d like to ride in on a parachute, jumping from riddle to stepping stone, leaping into the thinness and catching a ride on your thoughts. I’d like to bring glitter with me, kaleidoscopes, paint and paper planes, then every thought would dazzle as they flew past the paper towns in your eyes — — If I could sleep on the pillows of your lips, I wouldn’t bring a blanket with me; I would bask in the heat of your breath, I would hang-glide on the winds between your teeth, I would soar above your paper planes tipping stars behind your pupils.

 

If I could scuba-dive through your neural networks, I wouldn’t leave a single boxcar un-turned; I want to know every secret, that hitch-hikes its way through your galaxies.

 

By Riah Raine

Riddles, leak from your mouth like stepping stones across the valley of your thoughts, parachutes connecting the string of ideas that tumble from the train cars through your mind.

I would love to be a scuba-diver in your brain, to leap into the neurons as they fire rapidly in every direction; I would peer at them from my goggle-filmed eyes and examine each one like the bubbles of a passing fish.

I would swim around the tidepools behind your eyes, and then leap from your eyelid and ride the salt water down your cheak to the galexy outside your mind.

Perhaps, if I didn’t feel like scuba-diving, I would travel by train, catching every box car around your brain before they tipped, spilling ideas like oil, or paint, or liquid gold; I would climb to the top and watch the mess unravel in sticky words and colorful splatters across the canvas where your lips paint.

If I felt like it, I would bring my paints and brushes with me; I would throw color on every thought before it escaped your mouth, I would tint each with yellow, and make them into sunsets so when you speak your words would melt like butter.

I’d like to ride in on a parachute, jumping from riddle to stepping stone, leaping into the thinness and catching a ride on your thoughts. I’d like to bring glitter with me, kaleidoscopes, paint and paper planes, then every thought would dazzle as they flew past the paper towns in your eyes — — If I could sleep on the pillows of your lips, I wouldn’t bring a blanket with me; I would bask in the heat of your breath, I would hang-glide on the winds between your teeth, I would soar above your paper planes tipping stars behind your pupils.

If I could scuba-dive through your neural networks, I wouldn’t leave a single boxcar un-turned; I want to know every secret, that hitch-hikes its way through your galaxies.

All Posts
×

Almost done…

We just sent you an email. Please click the link in the email to confirm your subscription!

OKSubscriptions powered by Strikingly